piii 

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*"“-r 

LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
STEWART  S.  HOWE 
JOURNALISM  CLASS  OF  1928 


STEWART  S.  HOWE  FOUNDATION 


817 

N98n 

1900 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/nyerileyswithumoOOnyeb 


NYE  AND  RILEY’S 

WIT  AND  HUMOR 


(POBMS-YARNS) 

BY 

Bill  Nye  and  James  Whitcomb  Riley 


iFllustratefc 

By  Baron  De  Grimm , E.  Zimmermany 
Walt  McDougally  and  Others 


fleels'e  popular  library.  No.  57.  Jan.  15, 1896.  Issued  Semi-monthly, 
$6.00  per  year.  Entered  as  Second-class  Matter  at  Chicago. 


CHICAGO : 

THOMPSON  & THOMAS 


Cor; right  1S*00,  Thompson  & THomst 


Biographical 


Edgar  Wilson  Nye  was  whole-souled,  big-hearted  and  genial, 
Those  who  knew  him  lost  sight  of  the  humorist  in  the  wholesome 
friend. 

He  was  born  August  25,  1850,  in  Shirley,  Piscataquis  County, 
Maine.  Poverty  of  resources  drove  the  family  to  St.  Croix  Valley, 
Wisconsin,  where  they  hoped  to  be  able  to  live  under  conditions 
less  severe.  After  receiving  a meager  schooling,  he  entered  a 
lawyer’s  office  where  most  of  his  work  consisted  in  sweeping  the 
office  and  running  errands.  In  his  idle  moments  the  lawyer’s 
library  was  at  his  service.  Of  this  crude  and  desultory  reading  he 
afterward  wrote: 

“ I could  read  the  same  passage  today  that  I did  yesterday 
and  it  would  seem  as  fresh  at  the  second  reading  as  it  did  at  the 
first.  On  the  following  day  I could  read  it  again  and  it  would 
seem  as  new  and  mysterious  as  it  did  on  the  preceding  day.” 

At  the  age  of  twenty-five,  he  was  teaching  a district  school  in 
Polk  County,  Wisconsin,  at  thirty  dollars  a month.  In  1877  he  was 
justice  of  the  peace  in  Laramie.  Of  that  experience  he  wrote: 

“ It  was  really  pathetic  to  see  the  poor  little  miserable  booth 
where  I sat  and  waited  with  numb  fingers  for  business.  But  I did 
not  see  the  pathos  which  clung  to  every  cobweb  and  darkened  the 
rattling  casement.  Possibly  I did  not  know  enough.  I forgot  to 
say  the  office  was  not  a salaried  one,  but  solely  dependent  upon 
fees.  So  while  I was  called  Judge  Nye  and  frequently  mentioned 
in  the  papers  with  consideration,  I was  out  of  coal  half  the  time, 
and  once  could  not  mail  my  letters  for  three  weeks  because  I did 
not  have  the  necessary  postage.” 

He  wrote  some  letters  to  the  Cheyenne  Sun  and  soon  made 
such  a reputation  for  himself  that  he  was  able  to  obtain  a position 
on  the  Laramie  Sentinel.  Of  this  experience  he  wrote: 

“ The  salary  was  small,  but  the  latitude  was  great,  and  I was 
permitted  to  write  anything  that  I thought  would  please  the 
people,  whether  it  was  news  or  not.  By  and  by  I had  won  every 
heart  by  my  patient  poverty  and  my  delightful  parsimony  with  re- 

iii 


IV 


BIOGRAPHICAL. 


gard  to  facts.  With  a hectic  imagination  and  an  order  on  a res- 
taurant which  advertised  in  the  paper  I scarcely  cared  through 
the  livelong  day  whether  school  kept  or  not.” 

Of  the  proprietor  of  the  Sentinel  he  wrote: 

“ I don’t  know  whether  he  got  into  the  penitentiary  or  the 
Greenback  party.  At  any  rate,  he  was  the  wickedest  man  in 
Wyoming.  Still,  he  was  warm-hearted  and  generous  to  a fault. 
He  was  more  generous  to  a fault  than  to  anything  else — more  es- 
pecially his  own  faults.  He  gave  me  twelve  dollars  a week  to  edit 
the  paper — local,  telegraph,  selections,  religious,  sporting,  politi- 
cal, fashions,  and  obituary.  He  said  twelve]dollars  was  too  much, 
but  if  I would  jerk  the  press  occasionally  and  take  care  of  his 
children  he  would  try  to  stand  it.  You  can’t  mix  politics  and 
measles.  I saw  that  I would  have  to  draw  the  line  at  measles.  So 
one  day  I drew  my  princely  salary  and  quit,  having  acquired  a style 
of  fearless  and  independent  journalism  which  I still,  retain.  I can 
write  up  things  that  never  occurred  with  a masterly  and  graphic 
hand.  Then,  if  they  occur,  I am  grateful;  if  not,  I bow  to  the 
inevitable  and  smother  my  chagrin.” 

In  the  midst  of  a wrangle  in  politics  he  was  appointed  Post- 
master of  his  town  and  his  letter  of  acceptance,  addressed  to  the 
Postmaster-General  at  Washington,  was  the  first  of  his  writings  to 
attract  national  attention. 

He  said  that  in  his  opinion,  his  being  selected  for  the  office  was 
a triumph  of  eternal  right  over  error  and  wrong.  “ It  is  one  of  the 
epochs,  I may  say,  in  the  nation’s  onward  march  toward  political 
purity  and  perfection,”  he  wrote.  “ I don’t  know  when  I have 
noticed  any  stride  in  the  affairs  of  State  which  has  so  thoroughly 
impressed  me  with  its  wisdom.” 

Shortly  after  he  became  postmaster  he  started  the  Boomerang. 
The  first  office  of  the  paper  was  over  a livery  stable  and  Nye  put 
up  a sign  instructing  callers  to  “ twist  the  tail  of  the  gray  mule  and 
take  the  elevator.” 

He  at  once  became  famous  and  was  soon  brought  to  New 
York,  at  a salary  that  seemed  fabulous  to  him.  His  place  among 
the  humorists  of  the  world  was  thenceforth  assured. 

He  died  February  22,  1896,  at  his  home  in  North  Carolina, 
surrounded  by  his  family. 

James  Whitcomb  Riley,  the  Hoosier  poet,  was  for  many  years 
a close  personal  friend  of  the  dead  humorist.  When  informed  of 
Nye’s  death,  he  said: 


BIOGRAPHICAL, 


v 


“Especially  favored,  as  for  years  I have  been,  with  close 
personal  acquaintance  and  association  with  Mr.  Nye,  his  going 
away  fills  me  with  selfishness  of  grief  that  finds  a mute  rebuke  in 
my  every  memory  of  him.  He  was  unselfish  wholly,  and  I am 
broken-hearted,  recalling  the  always  patient  strength  and  gentle- 
ness of  this  true  man,  the  unfailing  hope  and  cheer  and  faith  of 
his  child-heart,  his  noble  and  heroic  life,  and  pure  devotion  to  his 
home,  his  deep  affections,  constant  dreams,  plans,  and  realiza- 
tions. I cannot  doubt  but  that  somehow,  somewhere,  he  continues 
cheerily  on  in  the  unspoken  exercise  of  these  same  capacities. 

Mr.  Riley  recently  wrote  the  following  sonnet: 

O William,  in  thy  blithe  companionship 
What  liberty  is  mine— what  sweet  release 
From  clamorous  strife,  and  yet  what  boisterous  peace! 

Hoi  ho!  It  is  thy  fancy’s  finger-tip 
That  dints  the  dimple  now,  and  kinks  the  lip 
That  scarce  may  sing  in  all  this  glad  increase 
Of  merriment  I So,  pray  thee,  do  not  cease 
To  cheer  me  thus,  for  underneath  the  quip 
Of  thy  droll  sorcery  the  wrangling  fret 
Of  all  distress  is  still.  No  syllable 
Of  sorrow  vexeth  me,  no  tear  drops  wet 
My  teeming  lids,  save  those  that  leap  to  tell 
Thee  thou’st  a guest  that  overweepeth  yet 
Only  because  thou  jokest  overwell. 


What  this  country  needs,  aside  from  a new  Indian  policy 
and  a style  of  poison  for  children  which  will  be  liable  to  kill 
rats  if  they  eat  it  by  accident,  is  a Railway  Guide  which  will 
be  just  as  good  two  years  ago  as  it  was  next  spring  — a 
Railway  Guide  if  you  please,  which  shall  not  be  cursed  by 
a plethora  of  facts,  or  poisoned  with  information — a Rail- 
way Guide  that  shall  be  rich  with  doubts  and  lighted  up 
with  miserable  apprehensions.  In  other  Railway  Guides, 
pleasing  fancy,  poesy  and  literary  beauty,  have  been  throt- 
tled at  the  very  threshold  of  success,  by  a wild  incontinence 
of  facts,  figures,  asterisks  and  references  to  meal  stations. 
For  this  reason  a guide  has  been  built  at  our  own  shops  and 
on  a new  plan.  It  is  the  literary  piece  de  resistance  of  the 
age  in  which  we  live.  It  will  not  permit  information  to 
creep  in  and  mar  the  reader’s  enjoyment  of  the  scenery. 
It  contains  no  railroad  map  which  is  grossly  inaccurate. 
It  has  no  time-table  in  it  which  has  outlived  its  uselessness. 
It  does  not  prohibit  passengers  from  riding  on  the  platform 
while  the  cars  are  in  motion.  It  permits  everyone  to  do 

vii 


viii 


NTR  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


just  as  he  pleases  and  rather  encourages  him  in  taking  that 
course. 

The  authors  of  this  book  have  suffered  intensely  from 
the  inordinate  use  of  other  guides,  having  been  compelled 
several  times  to  rise  at  3 o’clock  a.m.  in  order  to  catch  a 
car  which  did  not  go  and  which  would  not  have  stopped  at 
the  station  if  it  had  gone. 

They  have  decided,  therefore,  to  issue  a guide  which 
will  be  good  for  one  to  read  after  one  has  missed  one’s  train 
by  reason  of  one’s  faith  in  other  guides  which  we  may  have 
in  one’s  luggage. 

Let  it  be  understood,  then,  that  we  are  wholly  irrespon- 
sible, and  we  are  glad  of  it.  We  do  not  care  who  knows 
it.  We  will  not  even  hold  ourselves  responsible  for  the 
pictures  in  this  book,  or  the  hard-boiled  eggs  sold  at  points 
marked  as  meal  stations  in  time  tables.  We  have  gone 
into  this  thing  wholly  unpledged,  and  the  man  who  gets  up 
before  he  is  awake,  in  order  to  catch  any  East  bound,  or 
West  bound,  North  bound,  South  bound,  or  hide-bound 
train,  named  in  this  book,  does  himself  a great  wrong  without 
in  any  wav  advancing  our  own  interests. 

The  authors  of  this  book  have  made  railroad  travel  a 
close  study.  They  have  discovered  that  there  has  been  no 
provision  made  for  the  man  who  erroneously  gets  into  a car 
which  is  side-tracked  and  swept  out  and  scrubbed  by  people 
who  take  in  cars  to  scrub  and  laundry.  He  is  one  of  the 
men  we  are  striving  at  this  moment  to  reach  with  our  little 
volume.  We  have  each  of  us  been  that  man.  We  are  yet.f 

He  ought  to  have  something  to  read  that  will  distract  his 
attention,  '"’his  book  is  designed  for  him.  Also  for  people 
who  would  like  to  travel  but  cannot  get  away  from  home. 
Of  course,  people  who  do  travel,  will  find  nothing  objection- 
able in  the  book,  but  our  plan  is  to  issue  a book  worth  about 


$9  charging  only  fifty  cents  for  it  and  then  see  to  it  that  no 
time  tables  or  maps  which  will  never  return  after  they  have 
been  pulled  out  once,  shall  creep  in  among  its  pages. 

It  is  the  design  of  the  authors  to  issue  this  guide  annually 
unless  prohibited  by  law  and  to  be  the  pioneers  establishing 
a book  which  shall  be  designed  solely  for  the  use  of  any 
body  who  desires  to  subscribe  for  it. 

Bill  Nye. 

James  Whitcomb  Rilfy. 

P.  S.— The  authors  desire  to  express  their  thanks  to  Mr 
Riley  for  the  poetry  and  to  Mr.  Nye  for  the  prose  whicl 
have  been  used  in  this  book. 


August — Riley 15 

Anecdotes  of  Jay  Gould— N ye 7 

A Black  Hills  Episode— Riley 107 

A Blasted  Snore — Nye • • • 160 

A Brave  Refrain — Riley 158 

A Character— Riley 116 

A Dose't  of  Blues — Riley  188 

A Fall  Creek  View  of  the  Earthquake— Riley  • • 13 

A Hint  of  Spring — Riley 140 

A Letter  of  Acceptance — Nye • • 37 

A Treat  Ode — Riley 142 

Craqueodoom — Riley 67 

Curly  Locks — Riley 95 

Ezra  House — Riley 134 

From  Delphi  to  Camden — Riley • 54 

Good  Bye-er  Howdy  Do— Riley 164 

Healthy  but  Out  of  the  Race — Nye 79 

Her  Tired  Hands — Nye 126 

His  Crazy  Bone — Riley 61 

His  C pristmas  Sled — Riley 124 

His  First  Womern — Riley 23 

How  to  Hunt  the  Fox— Nye • • . 28 

In  a Box— Riley ......  182 

In  the  Afternoon— Riley  45 

Julius  Caesar  in  Tgwn — Nye  . 17 

Lines  on  Hearing  a Cow  Bawl— Riley  , . , - . 85 

xi 


Xll 


CONTENTS* 


Lines  on  Turning  Over  a Pass— >Nye  • . . . t . 96 

Me  and  Mary— Riley . 87 

McFeeter’s  Fourth— Riley 179 

My  Bachelor  Chum— Riley; . 149 

Mr.  Silberberg—  Riley 74 

Niagara  Falls  from  the  Nye  Side — Nye 89 

Never  Talk  Back — Riley 4 

Oh,  Wilhelmina,  Come  Back — Nye 13- 

Our  Wife— Nye 144 

Prying  Open  the  Future — Nye  68 

Says  He — Riley 173 

Seeking  to  be  Identified — Nye 196 

Seeking  to  set  the  Public  Right — Nye 1S4 

Spirits  at  Home — Riley 77 

Society  Gurgs  from  Sandy  Mush — Nye 166 

Sutters  Claim — Riley 194 

This  Man  Jones — Riley  25 

That  Night — Riley 100 

The  Boy  Friend — Riley 35 

The  Chemist  of  the  Carolinas — Nye 62 

The  Diary  of  Darius  T.  Skinner — Nye 118 

The  Grammatical  Boy — Nye 56 

The  Gruesome  Ballad  of  Mr.  Squincher— Riley  ...  5 

The  Man  in  the  Moon — Riley 122 

The  Philanthropical  Jay — Nye 151 

7.’he  Truth  about  Methusalah— Nye 102 

The  Tarheel  Cow — Nye . . 112 

The  Rise  and  Fall  of  Wm.  Johnson — Nye  ....  46 

The  Rossville  Lecture  Course— Riley 109 

Wanted  a Fox — Nye 190 

Where  He  First  Met  his  Parents — Nye 1 

Where  the  Roads  are  Engaged  in  Forking — Nye  . . 175 

While  Cigarettes  to  Ashes  Turn— Riley 171 

Why  it  was  Done— Nye  & Riley  • •»•••••  xr 


Where  hs  First  tt]et  tfis  Parents. 

Past  week  I visited  my  birthplace  in  the  State  of  Maine. 
I waited  thirty  years  for  the  public  to  visit  it,  and  as  there 
didn’t  seem  to  be  much  of  a rush  this  spring,  I thought  1 
would  go  and  visit  it  myself.  I was  telling  a friend  the 
other  day  that  the  public  did  not  seem  to  manifest  the 
interest  in  my  birthplace  that  1 thought  it  ought  to,  and  he 
said  I ought  not  to  mind  that.  ''Just  wait,”  said  he,  “till 
the  people  of  the  United  States  have  an  opportunity  tc 
visit  your  tomb,  and  you  will  be  surprised  to  see  how  they 
will  run  excursion  trains  up  there  to  Moosehead  lake,  or 
wherever  you  plant  yourself.  It  will  be  a perfect  picnic. 
Your  hold  on  the  American  people,  William,  is  wonderful, 
but  your  death  would  seem  to  assure  it,  and  kind  of  crystallize 
the  affection  now  existing,  but  still  in  a nebulous  and  gummy 
state.” 


A man  ought  not  to  criticise  his  birthplace,  I presume 
ana  yet,  if  f were  to  do  it  all  over  again,  I do  not  kno>v 


whether  I would  select  that  particular  spot  or  not.  Soiue* 
times  I think  I would  not.  And  yet,  what  memories  cluster 
about  that  old  house!  There  was  the  place  where  I first 
met  my  parents.  It  was  at  that  time  that  an  acquaintance 
sprang  up  which  has  ripened  in  later  years  into  mutual 
respect  and  esteem.  It  was  there  that  what  might  be 
termed  a casual  meeting  took  place,  that  has,  under  the 
alchemy  of  resistless  years,  turned  to  golden  links,  form- 
ing a pleasant  but  powerful  bond  of  union  between  my 
parents  and  myself.  For  that  reason,  I hope  that  I may 
be  spared  to  my  parents  for  many  years  to  come. 

Many  memories  now  cluster  about  that  old  home,  as  I 
have  said.  There  is,  also,  other  bric-a-brac  which  has  accu- 
mulated since  I was  born  there.  I took  a small  stone  from 
the  front  yard  as  a kind  of  memento  of  the  occasion  and  the 
place.  I do  not  think  it  has  been  detected  yet.  There 
was  another  stone  in  the  yard,  so  it  may  be  weeks  before 
any  one  finds  out  that  I took  one  of  them. 

How  humble  the  home,  and  yet  what  a lessun  it  should 
teach  the  boys  of  America!  Here,  amid  the  barren  and 
inhospitable  waste  of  rocks  a»4  cold,  the  last  place  in  the 
world  that  a great  man  would  naturally  select  to  be  born  in, 
began  the  life  of  one  who,  by  his  own  unaided  effort,  in 
after  years  rose  to  the  proud  height  of  postmaster  at  Lara- 
mie City,  Wy.  T.,  and  with  an  estimate  of  the  future  that 
seemed  almost  prophetic,  resigned  before  he  could  be  char- 
acterized as  an  offensive  partisan. 

Here  on  the  banks  of  the  raging  Piscataquis,  where 
winter  lingers  in  the  lap  of  spying  till  it  occasions  a good 
deal  of  talk,  there  began  a career  which  has  been  the  wonder 
and  admiration  of  every  vigilance  committee  west  of  the, 
turbulent  Missouri. 

There  on  that  spot,  with  no  inheritance  but  a predispo- 
sition to  baldness  and  a bitter  hatred  of  rum;  with  no 
personal  property  but  a misfit  suspender  and  a stone-bruise 


WHERE  HE  FIRST  MET  HIS  PARENTS. 


3 


began  a life  history  which  has  never  ceased  to  be  a warning 
\o  people  who  have  sold  goods  on  credit. 

It  should  teach  the  youth  of  our  great,  broad  land  what 
glorious  possibilities  may  lie  concealed  in  the  rough  and 
tough  bosom  of  the  reluctant  present.  It  shows  how  steady 
perseverance  and  a good  appetite  will  always  win  in  the 
end.  It  teaches  us  that  wealth  is  not  indispensable,  and 
that  if  we  live  as  we  should,  draw  out  of  politics  at  the 
proper  time,  and  die  a few  days  before  the  public  absolutely 
demand  it,  the  matter  of  our  birthplace  will  not  be  consid- 
ered. 

Still,  my  birthplace  is  all  right  as  a birthplace.  It  was 
a good,  quiet  place  in  which  to  be  born.  All  the  old  neigh- 
bors said  that  Shirley  was  a very  quiet  place  up  to  the 
time  I was  born  there,  and  when  I took  my  parents  by  the 
hand  and  gently  led  them  away  in  the  spring  of  '53^  saying, 
“ Parents,  this  is  no  place  for  us,”  it  again  became  quiet. 

It  is  the  only  birthplace  I have,  however,  and  I hope 
that  all  the  readers  of  this  sketch  will  feel  perfectly  free  to 
go  there  any  time  and  visit  it  and  carry  their  dinner  as  I 
did.  Extravagant  cordiality  and  overflowing  hospitality 
have  always  kept  my  birthplace  back. 


Never  talk  back!  sich  things  is  ripperhensible; 

A feller  only  “corks”  hisse’f  that  jaws  a man  that’s 
hot; 

In  a quarrel,  ef  you’ll  only  keep  your  movth  shet  and 
act  sensible, 

The  man  that  does  the  talkin’ll  git  worsted  every 
shot! 

Never  talk  back  to  a feller  that’s  abusin’  you— 

Jest  let  him  carry  on,  and  rip,  and  cuss  and  swear; 

And  when  he  finds  his  lyin’  and  his  dammin’s  j^st 
amusin’  you, 

You’ve  got  him  clean  kaflummixed,  and  you  want  t<? 
hold  him  there! 

Never  talk  back,  and  wake  up  the  whole  community, 

And  call  a man  a liar,  over  law,  er  Politics, — 

You  can  lift  and  land  him  furder  and  with  gracefuliei 
impunity 

With  one  good  jolt  of  silence  than  a half  a dozen 
kicks! 


The  Grtiesortfe  Ballad  of 
A]r.  Sgliiticlfer, 


“ Ki-yi!”  said  Mr.  Squincher, 

As  in  contemplative  pose. 

He  stood  before  the  looking-gl&ss 
And  burnished  up  his  nose, 

And  brushed  the  dandruff  from  a 
span- 

Spick-splinter  suit  of  clothes, — 
“Why,  bless  you,  Mr.  Squincher, 
“You’re  as  handsome  as  a rose!’ 


There  are  some, 
cher, 

As  he  raised  upon  his  toes 
T o catch  his  full  reflection, 

And  the  fascinating  bows 
That  graced  his  legs, — ■“  I reckon 
There  are  some  folks  never  knows 
How  beautiful  is  human  legs 
In  pantaloons  like  those 


“ But  ah!”  sighed  Mr.  Squincher, 

As  a ghastly  phantom  rose 
And  leered  above  his  shoulder 
Like  the  deadliest  of  foes, — 

With  fleshless  arms  and  fingers, 

And  a skull,  with  glistening  rows 
Of  teeth  that  crunched  and  gritted,— 
“ Its  my  tailor,  I suppose !” 
****** 

They  found  him  in  the  morning — 

So  the  mystic  legend  goes — 

With  the  placid  face  still  smiling 
In  its  statuesque  repose ; — 

With  a lily  in  his  left  hand, 

And  in  his  right  a rose, 

With  their  fragrance  curling  upward 
Through  a nimbus  round  his  nose. 


jArjecdotes  of  Jay  Gotild, 

. Facial  Neuralgia  is  what  is 
keeping  Jay  Gould  back  this 
summer  and  preventing  him 
from  making  as  much  money 
as  he  would  otherwise.  With 
good  health  and  his  present 
methods  of  doing  business  IMr. 
Gould  could  in  a few  years  be 
beyond  the  reach  of  want,  but 
he  is  up  so  much  nights  with  his 
face  that  he  has  to  keep  one  gas- 
jet  burning  all  the  time.  Besides 
he  has  cabled  once  to  Dr.  Brown- 
Sequard  for  a neuralgia  pill  that 
he  thought  would  relieve  the  in- 
tense pain,  and  found  after  he 
had  paid  for  the  cablegram  that  every  druggist  in  New  York 
kept  the  Brown-Sequard  pill  in  stock.  But  when  a man  is 
ill  he  does  not  care  for  expense,  especially  when  he  controls 
an  Atlantic  cable  or  two. 

This  neuralgia  pill  is  about  the  size  of  a two-year-old 
colt  and  pure  white.  I have  been  compelled  to  take  several 
of  them  myself  while  suffering  from  facial  neuralgia;  for 
neuralgia  does  not  spare  the  good,  the  true  or  the  beautiful. 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GLIDE. 


% 

She  comes  along  and  nips  the  poor  yeoman  as  well  as  the 
millionaire  who  sits  in  the  lap  of  luxury.  Millionaires  who 
flatter  themselves  that  they  can  evade  neuralgia  by  going 
and  sitting  in  the  lap  of  luxury  make  a great  mistake. 

“And  do  you  find  that  this  large  porcelain  pill  relieves 
you  at  all,  Mr.  Gould?”  I asked  him  during  one  of  these 
attacks,  as  he  sat  in  his  studio  with  his  face  tied  up  in  hot 
bran. 

“No,  it  does  me  no  good  whatever,”  said  the  man  who 
likes  to  take  a lame  railroad  and  put  it  on  its  feet  by  issuing 
more  bonds.  “It  contains  a little  morphine,  which  dulls 
the  pain,  but  there’s  nothing  in  the  pill  to  cure  the  cause. 
My  neuralgia  comes  from  indigestion.  My  appetite  is  four 
sizes  too  large  for  a man  of  my  height  and  every  little 
while  I overeat.  I then  get  dangerously  ill  and  stocks  be- 
come greatly  depressed  in  consequence.  I am  now  in  a 
position  where,  if  I had  a constitution  that  would  stand  the 
strain,  I could  get  well  off  in  a few  years,  out  I am  not  strong 
enough.  Every  little  change  in  the  weather  affects  me.  1 
see  a red-headed  girl  on  the  street  and  immediately  after- 
wards I see  one  of  these  big  white  pills.” 

“Are  you  sure,  Mr.  Gould?”  I asked  him  with  some 
solicitude,  as  I bent  forward  and  inhaled  the  rich  fragrance 
of  the  carnation  in  his  button-hole,  “that  you  have  not 
taken  cold  in  some  way?” 

“ Possibly  I have,”  he  said,  as  he  shrank  back  in  a petu- 
lant way,  I thought.  “ Last  week  I got  my  feet  a little  damp 
while  playing  the  hose  on  some  of  my  stocks,  but  I hardly 
think  that  was  what  caused  the  trouble.  I am  apt  to  over- 
eat, as  I said.  I am  especially  fond  of  fruit,  too.  When  I 
was  a boy  I had  no  trouble,  because  I always  divided  my 
fruit  with  another  boy,  of  whom  I was  very  fond.  I would 
always  divide  my  fruit  into  two  equal  parts,  keeping  one  of 
vhese  and  eating  the  other  myself.  Many  and  many  a time 
wnen  this  boy  and  I went  out  together  and  only  had  one 


ajs/^cdoi es  cj  jay  ggull . 


c 


wormy  apple  between  us,  I have  divided  it  and  given  him 
the  worm. 

“ As  a boy,  I was  taught  to  believe  that  half  is  always 
better  than  the  hole.” 

“ And  are  you  not  afraid  that  this  neuralgia  after  it  has 
picnicked  around  among  your  features  may  fly  to  your 
vitals?” 


“ Possibly  so,”  said  Mr.  Gould,  snapping  the  hunting 
case  of  his  massive  silver  watch  with  a loud  report,  “ but  1 
am  guarding  against  this  by  keeping  my  pocketbook  wrap- 
ped up  all  the  time  in  an  old  red  flannel  shirt.” 

Here  Mr.  Gould  arose  and  went  out  of  the  room  for  a 
long  time,  and  I could  hear  him  pacing  up  and  down  out- 
side, stopping  now  and  then  to  peer  through  the  keyhole  to 


A nrX  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE . 


!• 

see  if  I had  gone  away.  But  in  each  instance  he  was  grat- 
ified to  find  that  I had  not.  Lest  any  one  should  imagine 
that  I took  advantage  of  his  absence  to  peruse  his  private 
correspondence,  I will  say  here  that  I did  not  do  so,  as  his 
desk  was  securely  locked. 

Mr.  Gould’s  habits  are  simple  and  he  does  not  hold  his 
cane  by  the  middle  when  he  walks.  He  wears  plain  clothes 
and  his  shirts  and  collars  are  both  made  of  the  same  shade. 
He  says  he  feels  sorry  for  any  one  who  has  to  wear  a pink 
shirt  with  a blue  collar.  Some  day  he  hopes  to  endow  a 
home  for  young  men  who  cannot  afford  to  buy  a shirt  and  a 
collar  at  the  same  store. 

He  owes  much  of  his  neuralgia  to  a lack  of  exercise. 
Mr.  Gould  never  takes  any  exercise  at  all.  His  reason  for 
this  is  that  he  sees  no  prospect  for  exercise  to  advance  in 
value.  He  says  he  is  willing  to  take  anything  else  but 
exercise. 

Up  to  within  a very  few  years  Jay  Gould  has  always 
slept  well  at  night,  owing  to  regular  hours  for  rising  and 
retiring  and  his  careful  abstinence  from  tobacco  and  alco- 
hol. Lately  neuralgia  has  kept  him  awake  a good  deal  at 
night,  but  prior  to  that  he  used  to  sleep  as  sweetly  and 
peacefully  as  a weasel. 

The  story  circulated  some  years  ago  to  the  effect  that  a 
professional  burglar  broke  into  Mr.  Gould’s  room  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  before  he  could  call  the  police  waf 
robbed  of  his  tools,  is  not  true.  People  who  have  no  highet 
aim  in  life  than  the  peddling  about  of  such  improbable 
yarns  would  do  well  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  these  reports 
before  giving  them  circulation. 

The  story  that  Mr.  Gould  once  killed  a steer  and  pre- 
sented his  hoofs  to  the  poor  with  the  remark  that  it  would 
help  to  keep  sole  and  body  together,  also  turned  out  to 
have  no  foundation  whatever  in  fact,  but  was  set  afloat  by 
an  English  wag  who  was  passionately  fond  of  a bit  of 
pleasantry,  don’t  you  know. 


ANECDOTE*.  02  JAY  COULD.  n 

Thus  it  is  that  a man  who  has  acquired  a competence 
t>y  means  of  honest  toil  becomes  the  target  for  the  barbed 
shaft  of  contumely. 

Mr.  Gould  is  said  to  be  a good  conversationalist,  though 
he  prefers  to  close  his  eyes  and  listen  to  others.  Nothing 
pleases  him  better  than  to  lure  a man  on  and  draw  him 
out  and  encourage  him  to  turn  his  mind  wrong  side  out  and 
empty  it.  He  then  richly  repays  this  confidence  by  saying 
that  if  it  doesn’t  rain  any  more  we  will  have  a long  dry  time. 
The  man  then  goes  away  inflated  with  the  idea  that  he 
has  a pointer  from  Mr.  Gould  which  will  materially  affect 
values.  A great  many  men  are  playing  croquet  at  the  poor- 
house  this  summer  who  owe  their  prosperity  to  tips  given 
them  by  Mr.  Gould. 

As  a fair  sample  of  the  way  a story  about  a great  man 
grows  and  becomes  distorted  at  the  same  time,  one  incident 
will  be  sufficient.  Some  years  ago,  it  is  said,  Mr.  Gould 
bought  a general  admission  ticket  to  hear  Sarah  Bernhardt 
as  Camille.  Several  gentlemen  who  were  sitting  near 
where  he  stood  asked  him  why  he  did  not  take  a seat. 
Instead  of  answering  directly  that  he  could  not  get  one  he 
replied  that  he  did  not  care  for  a seat,  as  he  wanted  to  be 
near  the  door  when  the  building  fell.  Shortly  after  this  he 
had  more  seats  than  he  could  use.  I give  this  story  simply 
to  illustrate  how  such  a thing  may  be  distorted,  for  upon 
investigation  it  was  found  to  have  occurred  at  a Patti  con- 
cert, and  not  at  a Bernhardt  exhibition  at  all.  i 

Mr.  Gould’s  career,  with  its  attendant  success,  should  j 
teach  us  two  things,  at  least.  One  is,  that  it  always  pays! 
to  do  a kind  act,  for  a great  deal  of  his  large  fortune  has 
been  amassed  by  assisting  men  like  Mr.  Field,  when  they 
were  in  a tight  place,  and  taking  their  depressed  stock  off, 
their  hands  while  in  a shrunken  condition.  He  believes 
also  that  the  merciful  man  is  merciful  to  his  stock. 

He  says  he  owes  much  of  his  success  in  life  to  economy 


13 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE 


and  neuralgia.  He  also  loves  to  relieve  distress  on  Wafl 
street,  and  is  so  passionately  fond  of  this  as  he  grows  older 
that  he  has  been  known  to  distress  other  stock  men  just 
for  the  pleasant  thrill  it  gave  him  to  relieve  them. 

Jay  Gould  is  also  a living  illustration  of  what  a young 
man  may  do  with  nothing  but  his  bare  hands  in  America. 
John  L.  Sullivan  and  Gould  are  both  that  way.  Mr.  Gould 
and  Col.  Sullivan  could  go  into  Siberia  to-morrow — little 
as  they  are  known  there — and  with  a small  Gordon  press, 
a quire  of  bond  paper  and  a pair  of  three-pennyweight 
gloves  they  would  soon  own  Siberia,  with  a right  of  way 
across  the  rest  of  Europe  and  a first  mortgage  on  the 
Russian  throne.  As  fast  as  CoL  Sullivan  knocked  out 
a dynasty  Jay  could  come  in  and  administer  on  the 
estate.  This  would  be  a powerful  combination.  It  would 
afford  us  an  opportunity  also  to  get  some  of  those  Rus- 
sian hay-fever  names  and  chilblains  by  red  message. 
Mr.  Gould  would  get  a good  deal  of  money  out  of  the 
transaction  and  Sullivan  would  get  ozone. 


I kin  hump  my  back  and  take 
the  rain, 

And  X don’t  keer  how  she 
pours; 

I kin  keep  kindo’  ca’m  in  a 
thunder  storm, 

No  matter  how  loud  siie  roars; 
I haint  much  skeered  o’  the 
lightnin’, 

Ner  I haint  sich  awful  Oiakes 
Afeared  o’  cyclones — but  * don’t 
want  none 

O’  yer  dad-burned  ol-f 
quakes ! 


As  long  as  my  legs  keeps  stiddy, 

And  long  as  my  head  keeps  plum, 
And  the  buildin’  stays  in  the  front  lot, 
I still  kin  whistle,  some  ! 

But  about  the  time  the  old  clock 
Flops  offn  the  mantel-shelf, 

And  the  bureau  skoots  fer  the  kitchen, 
I’m  a-goin*  to  skoot,  myself! 


Plague-take!  ef  you  keep  me  stabled 
While  any  earthquakes  is  around!— 
I’m  jist  the  stock, — I’ll  beller, 


And  break  fer  the  open  ground  ? 

And  I 'low  you’d  be  as  nervous, 

And  in  jist  about  my  fix, 

When  yer  whole  farm  slides  from  inunder  5 
And  on  y the  mor'gage  sticks ! 

Now  cars  haint  a-goin*  to  kill  you 
Ef  you  don’t  drive  ’crost  the  track ; 

Crediters  never ’ll  jerk  you  up 
Ef  you  go  and  pay  ’em  back ; 

You  kin  stand  all  moral  and  mundane  storms 
Ef  you’ll  on’y  jist  behave — 
jBut  a ’ EARTHQUAKE: — well,  ef  it  wanted  yjii 
It  ’ttd  husk  you  out  o’  ver  gra^e 


16  NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 

And  June — I liked  the  singing 
Of  her  lips,  and  liked  her  smile — 
But  all  her  songs  were  promises 
Of  something,  after  while ; 

And  July’s  face — the  lights  and  shade 
That  may  not  long  beguile, 

With  alternations  o’  er  the  wheat, 

The  dreamer  at  the  stile. 

But  you ! — ah,  you  are  tropical, 

Your  beauty  is  so  rare: 

Your  eyes  are  clearer,  deeper  eyes 
Than  any,  anywhere ; 

Mysterious,  imperious, 

Deliriously  fair, 

O listless  Andalusian  maid, 

With  bangles  in  your  hair? 


Jhlihs  Caesar  iij  Towp, 

HE  PLAY  of“Ju-> 
lius  Caesar,”  which 
has  been  at  the 
Academy  of  Music 
this  week,  has  made 
a great  hit.  Messrs. 
Booth  and  Barrett 
very  wisely  decided 
that  if  it  succeeded 
here  it  would  do  well 
anywhere.  If  the 
people  of  New  York 
like  a play  and  say 
so,  it  is  almost  sure 
to  go  elsewhere.  Judging  by  this  test  the  play  of  “Julius 
Caesar”  has  a glowing  future  ahead  of  it.  It  was  written  by 
Gentlemen  Shakespeare,  Bacon  and  Donnelly,  who  collabo- 
rated together  on  it.  Shakespeare  did  the  lines  and  plot, 
Bacon  furnished  the  cipher  and  Donnelly  called  attention 
to  it  through  the  papers. 

The  scene  of  “Julius  Caesar”  is  laid  in  Rome  just  before 
the  railroad  was  completed  to  that  place.  In  order  to 
understand  the  play  itself  we  must  glance  briefly  at  the 
leading  characters  which  are  introduced  and  upon  whom  its 
success  largely  depends. 


1 8 NVE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 

Julius  Caesar  first  attracted  attention  through  the  Roman 
papers  by  calling  the  attention  of  the  medical  faculty  to  the 
now  justly  celebrated  Caesarian  operation.  Taking  advan- 
tage of  the  advertisement  thus  attained,  he  soon  rose  to 
prominence  and  flourished  considerably  from  iooto  44  b.c., 
when  a committee  of  representative  citizens  and  property- 
owners  of  Rome  called  upon  him  and  on  behalf  of  the  peo- 
ple begged  leave  to  assassinate  him  as  a mark  of  esteem. 
He  was  stabbed  twenty-three  times  between  Pompey’s  Pillar 
and  eleven  o’clock,  many  of  which  were  mortal.  This 
account  of  the  assassination  is  taken  from  a local  paper  and 
is  graphic,  succinct  and  lacks  the  sensational  elements  so 
common  and  so  lamentable  in  our  own  time.  Caesar  was 
the  implacable  foe  of  the  aristocracy  and  refused  to  wear 
a plug  hat  up  to  the  day  of  his  death.  Sulla  once  said, 
before  Caesar  had  made  much  of  a showing,  that  some  day 
this  young  man  would  be  the  ruin  of  the  aristocracy,  and 
twenty  years  afterwards  when  Caesar  sacked,  assassinated 
and  holocausted  a whole  theological  seminary  for  saying 
“eyether”  and  “nyether,”  the  old  settlers  recalled  what 
Sulla  had  said. 

Caesar  continued  to  eat  pie  with  a knife  and  in  many 
other  ways  to  endear  himself  to  the  masses  until  68  b.c., 
when  he  ran  for  Quaestor.  Afterward  he  was  Hidile,  dur- 
ing the  term  of  which  office  he  sought  to  introduce  a num- 
ber of  new  games  and  to  extend  the  limit  on  some  of  the 
older  ones.  From  this  to  the  Senate  was  but  a step.  In 

♦ 

the  Senate  he  was  known  as  a good  Speaker,  but  ambitious, 
and  liable  to  turn  up  during  a close  vote  when  his  enemies 
thought  he  was  at  home  doing  his  chores.  This  made  him 
at  times  odious  to  those  who  opposed  him,  and  when  he 
defended  Cataline  and  offered  to  go  on  his  bond,  Caesar 
came  near  being  condemned  to  death  himself. 

In  62  b.  c.  he  went  to  Spain  as  Propraetor,  intending  to 
write  a book  about  the  Spanish  people  and  their  custom? 


JELIUS  CAESAR  IN  TOWN 


19 


as  soon  as  he  got  back,  but  he  was  so  busy  on  his  return 
that  he  did  not  have  time  to  do  so. 

Caesar  was  a powerful  man  with  the  people,  and  while 
in  the  Senate  worked  hard  for  his  constituents,  while  other 
Senators  were  having  their  photographs  taken.  He  went 
into  the  army  when  the  war  broke  out,  and  after  killing  a 
great  many  people  against  whom  he  certainly  could  not 
have  had  anything  personal,  he  returned,  headed  by  the 
Rome  Silver  Cornet  Band  and  leading  a procession  over  two 
miles  in  length.  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  was  tendered  a 
crown  just  as  he  was  passing  the  City  Hall,  but  thrice  he 
refused  it.  After  each  refusal  the  people  applauded  and 
encored  him  till  he  had  to  refuse  it  again.  It  is  at  about 
this  time  the  play  opens.  Caesar  has  just  arrived  on  a 
speckled  courser  and  dismounted  outside  the  town.  He 
comes  in  at  the  head  of  the  procession  with  the  under- 
standing that  the  crown  is  to  be  offered  him  just  as  he 
crosses  over  to  the  Court-House. 

Here  Cassius  and  Brutus  meet,  and  Cassius  tries  to 
make  a Mugwump  of  Brutus,  so  that  they  can  organize  a 
new  movement.  Mr.  Edwin  Booth  takes  the  character  of 
Brutus  and  Mr.  Lawrence  Barrett  takes  that  of  Cassius. 
I would  not  want  to  take  the  character  of  Cassius  myself, 
even  if  I had  run  short  of  character  and  needed  some  very 
much  indeed,  but  Mr.  Barrett  takes  it  and  does  it  first-rate. 
Mr.  Booth  also  plays  Brutus  so  that  old  settlers  here  say 
it  seems  almost  like  having  Brutus  here  among  us  again. 

Brutus  was  a Roman  republican  with  strong  tariff  ten- 
dencies. He  was  a good  extemporaneous  after-dinner 
speaker  and  a warm  personal  friend  of  Caesar,  though  differ- 
ing from  him  politically.  In  assassinating  Caesar,  Brutus 
used  to  say  afterwards  he  did  not  feel  the  slightest  personal 
animosity,  but  did  it  entirely  for  the  good  of  the  party. 
That  is  one  thing  I like  about  politics — you  can  cut  out  a 
man’s  vitals  and  hang  them  on  the  Christmas  tree  and  drag 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


m 

the  fair  name  of  his  wife  or  mother  around  through  the 
sewers  for  six  weeks  before  election,  and  so  long  as  it  is 
done  for  the  good  of  the  party  it  is  all  right. 

So  when  Brutus  is  authorized  by  the  caucus  to  assas- 
sinate Caesar  he  feels  that,  like  being  President  of  the 
United  States,  it  is  a disagreeable  job;  but  if  the  good  of 
the  party  seems  really  to  demand  it  he  will  do  it,  though  he 
wishes  it  distinctly  understood  that  personally  he  hasn’t  got 
a thing  against  Caesar. 

In  act  4 Brutus  sits  up  late  reading  a story  by  E.  P.  Roe, 
and  just  as  he  is  in  the  most  exciting  part  of  it  the  ghost  of 
the  assassinated  Caesar  appears  and  states  that  it  will  meet 
him  with  hard  gloves  at  Philippi.  Brutus  looks  bored  and 
says  that  he  is  not  in  condition,  but  the  ghost  leaves  it  that 
way  and  Brutus  looks  still  more  bored  till  the  ghost  goes 
out  through  a white  oak  door  without  opening  it. 

At  Philippi,  Brutus  sees  that  there  is  no  hope  of  police 
interference,  and  so  before  time  is  called  he  inserts  his 
sword  into  his  being  and  dies  while  the  polite  American 
audience  puts  on  its  overcoat  and  goes  out,  looking  over  its 
shoulder  to  see  that  Brutus  does  not  take  advantage  of  this 
moment,  while  the  people  are  going  away,  to  resuscitate 
himself. 

The  play  is  thoroughly  enjoyable  all  the  way  through, 
especially  Caesar’s  funeral.  The  idea  of  introducing  a 
funeral  and  engaging  Mark  Antony  to  deliver  the  eulogy, 
with  the  understanding  that  he  was  to  have  his  traveling 
expenses  paid  and  the  privilege  of  selling  the  sermon  to  a 
syndicate,  shows  genius  on  the  part  of  the  joint  authors. 
All  the  way  through  the  play  is  good,  but  sad.  There  is 
no  divertisement  or  tank  in  it,  but  the  funeral  more  than 
makes  up  for  all  that. 

Where  Portia  begs  Brutus,  before  the  assassination,  to 
tell  her  all  and  let  her  in  on  the  ground  floor,  and  asks 
what  the  matter  is,  and  he  claims  that  it  is  malaria,  and  she 


/ i,  d .V. 


J ^ L IU ^ A A . 

still  insists  and  asks,  “ Dwell  I but  in  the  suburbs  of  youi 
good  pleasure? ” and  he  states,  “ You  are  my  true  and  hon- 
orable wife,  as  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops  that  visit 
my  sad  heart,”  I forgot  myself  and  wept  my  new  plug  hat 
two-thirds  full.  It  is  as  good  as  anything  there  is  in  Josh 
Whitcomb’s  play. 

* Booth  and  Barrett  have  the  making  of  good  actors  in 
them.  I met  both  of  these  gentlemen  in  Wyoming  some 


years  ago.  We  met  by  accident.  They  were  going  to  Cal- 
ifornia and  I was  coming  back.  By  some  oversight  we  had 
both  selected  the  same  track,  and  we  were  thrown  together. 
I do  not  know  whether  they  will  recall  my  face  or  not.  I 
was  riding  on  the  sleeper  truck  at  the  time  of  the  accident. 
I always  take  a sleeper  and  always  did.  I rode  on  the 
truck  because  I didn’t  want  to  ride  inside  the  car  and  have 


to  associate  with  a wealthy  porter  who  looked  down  upon 
me.  I am  the  man  who  was  found  down  the  creek  the 
next  day  gathering  wild  ferns  and  murmuring,  “Where 
am  I?” 

The  play  of  “ Julius  Caesar  ” is  one  which  brings  out  the 
meanness  and  magnetism  of  Cassius,  and  emphasizes  .the 
mistaken  patriotism  of  Brutus.  It  is  full  of  pathos,  duplic- 
ity, assassination,  treachery,  erroneous  loyalty,  suicide, 
hypocrisy,  and  all  the  intrigue,  jealousy,  cowardice  and 
deviltry  which  characterized  the  politics  of  fifty  years  b.c., 
but  which  now,  thanks  to  the  enlightenment  and  refinement 
which  twenty  centuries  have  brought,  are  known  no  more 
forever.  Let  us  not  forget,  as  we  enter  upon  the  year  1888, 
that  it  is  a Presidential  year,  and  that  all  acrimony  will  be 
buried  under  the  dew  and  the  daisies,  and  that  no  matter 
how  high  party  spirit  may  run,  there  will  be  no  personal 
enmity. 


JErfis  First  Wonfertt 


I buried  my  first  womern 
In  the  spring;  and  in  the 
fall 

I was  married  to  my  second, 
And  haint  settled  yit  at 
all!— 

Fer  I’m  alius  thinkin'— 
thinkin’ 

Of  the  first  one’s  peaceful 
ways. 

A-bilin*  soap  and  singin* 

Of  the  Lord’s  amazin’ 
grace. 


H NYE  AND  RILEYS  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 

And  I’m  thinkin’of  her,  constant, 
Dyin*  carpet-chain  and  stuff, 

And  a-makin*  up  rag-carpets, 

When  the  floor  was  good  enough! 
And  I mind  her  he’p  a-feedin*, 

And  I recollect  her  now 
A-drappin’  corn,  and  keepin* 

Clos’t  behind  me  and  the  plow! 

And  I'm  alius  thinkin’  of  her 
Reddin’  up  around  the  house ; 

Er  cookin’  fer  the  farm-hands ; 

Er  a-drivin’  up  the  cows. — • 

And  there  she  lays  out  yender 
By  the  lower  medder-fence, 

Where  the  cows  was  barely  grazin’, 
And  they’re  usin’  ever  sence. 

And  when  I look  acrost  there- — 

Say  its  when  the  clover’s  ripe, 

And  I’m  settin’,  in  the  evenin', 

On  the  porch  here,  with  my  pipe, 
And  the  other' n hollers  “ Henry! 

W’y  they  ain’t  no  sadder  thing 
Than  to  think  of  my  first  womern 
And  her  funeral  last  spring 
Was  a year  ago. 


Ti|is  AJar|  dor^s. 

This  man  Jones  was  what  you*d  call 
A feller  ’at  had  no  sand  at  all; 

Kindo  consumpted,  and  undersize, 

And  sailer-complected,  with  big  sad  eyes, 

And  a kind-of-a-sort-of-a-hang-dog  style. 

And  a sneakin'  kind-of-a-half-way  smile 

That  kindo  give  him  away  to  us 

As  a preacher,  maybe,  or  somepin*  wuss. 

Didn’t  take  with  the  gang — well,  no — 

But  still  we  managed  to  use  him,  though, — 
Coddin’  the  gilley  along  the  rout* 

And  drivin’  the  stakes  that  he  pulled  out; — 
For  I was  one  of  the  bosses  then 
And  of  course  stood  in  with  the  canvas-men-* 
And  the  way  we  put  up  jobs,  you  know, 

On  this  man  Jones  jes’  beat  the  showl 

Used  to  rattle  him  scandalous, 

And  keep  the  feiler  a-dodgin*  us, 

And  a-shyin’  round  jes*  skeered  to  death, 

And  a-feered  to  whimper  above  his  breath; 
Give  him  a cussin’,  and  then  a kick, 

And  then  a kind-of-a  back-hand  lick — 

Jes’  for  the  fun  of  seein’  him  climb 
Around  with  a head  on  half  the  time. 


86  NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 

But  what  was  the  curioust  thing  to  me, 

Was  along  o’  the  party — let  me  see, — 

Who  was  our  “Lion  Queen”  last  year?— 
Mamzelle  Zanty,  er  De  La  Pierre? — 

Well,  no  matter! — a stunnin*  mash, 

With  a red-ripe  lip,  and  a long  eye-lash, 

And  a figger  sich  as  the  angels  owns — 

And  one  too  many  for  this  man  Jones! 

He’d  always  wake  in  the  afternoon 
As  the  band  waltzed  in  on  “the  lion  tune,** 
And  there,  from  the  time  that  she’d  go  in, 
Till  she’d  back  out  of  the  cage  agin, 

He’d  stand,  shaky  and  limber-kneed — 
’Specially  when  she  come  to  “feed 
The  beast  raw  meat  with  her  naked  hand”— 
And  all  that  business,  you  understand. 

And  it  was  resky  in  that  den — 

For  I think  she  juggled  three  cubs  then, 

And  a big  “green”  lion  ’at  used  to  smash 
Collar-bones  for  old  Frank  Nash; 

And  I reckon  now  she  haint  forgot 
The  afternoon  old  “Nero”  sot 
His  paws  on  her: — but  as  for  me. 

Its  a sort-of-a-mixed-up  mystery. 

Kindo’  remember  an  awful  roar, 

And  see  her  back  for  the  bolted  door— 

See  the  cage  rock — heerd  her  call 
“God  have  mercy!”  and  that  was  all— 

For  ther  haint  no  livin’ man  can  tell 
What  it’s  like  when  a thousand  yell 
In  female  tones,  and  a thousand  more 
Howl  in  bass  till  their  throats  is  sore! 


THIS  MAN  JONES . n 

But  the  keeper  said  as  they  dragged  her  out. 

They  heerd  some  feller  laugh  and  shout: 

‘‘Save  her!  Quick!  I’ve  got  the  cuss!” 

Andyit  she  waked  and  smiled  on  us! 

And  we  daren’t  flinch — for  the  doctor  said, 

Seein’  as  this  man  Jones  was  dead, 

Better  to  jes*  not  let  her  know 
Nothin’  o’  that  for  a week  or  so. 


tjow  to  Ffiint  the  Fox. 

HE  joyous  season  for  hunting  is  again  upon 
i us,  and  with  the  gentle  fall  of  the 
autumn  leaf  and  the 
sough  of  the  scented 
breezes  about  the 
gnarled  and  naked 
limbs  of  the  wail- 
ing trees  — the 
huntsman  comes 
with  his  hark  and 
his  halloo  and  hur- 
rah, boys,  the  swift 
rush  of  the  chase{ 
the  thrilling  scamper  ’cross 
country,  the  mad  dash 
through  the  Long  Islander’s 
pumpkin  patch — also  the  mad 
dash,  dash,  dash  of  the  farm- 
er, the  low  moan  of  the  dis- 
abled and  frozen-toed  hen  as 
die  whooping  horsemen  run  her  down;  the  wild  shriek  of  the 
children,  the  low  melancholy  wail  of  the  frightened  shoat  as 
he  flees  away  to  the  straw  pile,  the  quick  yet  muffled 
plunk  of  the  frozen  tomato  and  the  dull  scrunch  of  the  seed 
cucumber. 

The  huntsman  now  takes  the  flannels  off  his  fox,  rubs 
his  stiffened  limbs  with  gargling  oil,  ties  a bunch  of  fire^ 


HOW  TO  HUNT  THE  FOX, 


*9 


crackers  to  his  tail  and  runs  him  around  the  barn  a 

times  to  see  if  he  is  in  good  order. 

The  foxhound  is  a cross  of  the  bloodhound,  the  gray- 
hound,  the  bulldog  and  the  chump.  When  you  step  on  his 
tail  he  is  said  to  be  in  full  cry.  The  foxhound  obtains 
from  his  ancestors  on  the  bloodhound  side  of  the  house  his 
keen  scent,  which  enables  him  while  in  full  cry  ’cross  coun- 
try to  pause  and  hunt  for  chipmunks.  He  also  obtains 
from  the  bloodhound  branch  of  his  family  a wild  yearning 
to  star  in  an  “Uncle  Tom”  company,  and  watch  little  Eva 
meander  up  the  flume  at  two  dollars  per  week.  From  the 
grayhound  he  gets  his  most  miraculous  speed,  which  ena- 
bles him  to  attain  a rate  of  velocity  so  great  that  he  is 
unable  to  halt  during  the  excitement  of  the  chase,  fre- 
quently running  so  far  during  the  day  that  it  takes  him  a 
week  to  get  back,  when,  of  course,  all  interest  has  died  out. 
From  the  bulldog  the  foxhound  obtains  his  great  tenacity 
of  purpose,  his  deep-seated  convictions,  his  quick  percep- 
tions, his  love  of  home  and  his  clinging  nature.  From  the 
chump  the  foxhound  gets  his  high  intellectuality  and  that 
mental  power  which  enables  him  to  distinguish  almost  at  a 
glance  the  salient  points  of  difference  between  a two-year- 
old  steer  and  a two-dollar  bill. 

The  foxhound  is  about  two  feet  in  height,  and  120  of 
them  would  be  considered  an  ample  number  for  a quiet  lit- 
tle fox  hunt.  Some  hunters  think  this  number  inadequate, 
but  unless  the  fox  be  unusually  skittish  and  crawl  under 
the  barn,  120  foxhounds  ought  to  be  enough.  The  trouble 
generally  is  that,  hunters  make  too  much  noise,  thus  scar- 
ing the  fox  so  that  he  tries  to  get  away  from  them.  This 
necessitates  hard  riding  and  great  activity  on  the  part  of 
the  whippers-in.  Frightening  a fox  almost  always  results 
in  sending  him  out  of  the  road  and  compelling  horsemen 
to  stop  in  order  to  take  down  a panel  of  fence  every  little 
while  that  they  may  follow  the  animal,  ana  bet  ere  you  can 


get  the  fence  put  up  again  the  owner  is  on  the  ground,  ana 
after  you  have  made  change  with  him  and  mounted  again 
the  fox  may  be  nine  miles  away.  Try  by  all  means  to 
keep  your  fox  in  the  road ! 

It  makes  a great  difference  what  kind  of  fox  you  use, 
however.  I once  had  a fox  on  my  Pumpkin  Butte  estates 
that  lasted  me  three  years,  and  I never  knew  him  to  shy 
or  turn  out  of  the  road  for  anything  but  a loaded  team. 
He  was  the  best  fox  for  hunting  purposes  that  I ever  had. 
Every  spring  I would  sprinkle  him  with  Scotch  snuff  and 
put  him  away  in  the  bureau  till  fall.  He  would  then  come 
out  bright  and  chipper.  He  was  always  ready  to  enter  in- 
to the  chase  with  all  the  chic  and  embonpoint  of  a regular 
Kenosha,  and  nothing  pleased  him  better  than  to  be  about 
eight  miles  in  advance  of  my  thoroughbred  pack  in  full  cry, 
scampering  cross  country,  while  stretching  back  a few 
miles  behind  the  dogs  followed  a pale  young  man  and  his 
fiancier,  each  riding  a horse  that  had  sat  down  too  hard 
on  its  tail  some  time  and  driven  it  into  his  system  about 
six  joints. 

Some  hunters,  who  are  madly  and  passionately  devoted 
to  the  sport,  leap  their  horses  over  fences,  moats,  donjon 
keeps,  hedges  and  current  bushes  with  utter  sang  froid  and 
the  wild,  unfettered  toot  ongsomble  of  a brass  band.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  spirited  and  touchful  of  sights  to  see  a 
young  fox-hunter  going  home  through  the  gloaming  with  a 
full  cry  in  one  hand  and  his  pancreas  in  the  other. 

Some  like  to  be  in  at  the  death,  as  it  is  called,  and  it  is 
certainly  a laudable  ambition.  To  see  120  dogs  hold  out 
against  a ferocious  fox  weighing  nine  pounds ; to  watch  the 
brave  little  band  of  dogs  and  whippers-in  and  horses  with 
sawed-off  tails,  making  up  in  heroism  what  they  lack  in 
numbers,  succeeding  at  last  in  ridding  the  country  of  the 
ferocious  brute  which  has  long  been  tne  acknowledged  foe 
of  the  human  race,  is  indeed  a fine  sight 


HCIV  7 0 HUNT  THE  FOX . 


31 


We  are  too  apt  to  regard  fox-hunting  merely  as  a relaxa- 
tion, a source  of  pleasure,  and  the  result  of  a desire  to  do 
the  way  people  do  in  the  novels- which  we  steal  from  Eng- 
lish authors:  but  this  is  not  all.  To  successfully  hunt  a 
fox,  to  jump  fences  ’cross  country  like  an  unruly  steer,  is 
no  child’s  play.  To  ride  all  day  on  a very  hot  and  restless 
saddle,  trying  to  lope  while  your  horse  is  trotting,  giving 
your  friends  a good  view  of  the  country  between  yourself 
a _d  your  horse,  then  leaping  stone  walls,  breaking  your  col- 
lar-bone in  four  places,  pulling  out  one  eye  and  leaving  it 
hanging  on  a plum  tree,  or  going  home  at  night  with  your 
transverse  colon  wrapped  around  the  pommel  of  your  sad- 
dle and  your  liver  in  an  old  newspaper,  requires  the  great- 
est courage. 

Too  much  stress  cannot  be  placed  upon  the  costume 
worn  while  fox-hunting,  and  in  fact,  that  is,  after  all,  the 
life  and  soul  of  the  chase.  For  ladies,  nothing  looks  better 
than  a close-fitting  jacket,  sewed  together  with  thread  of  the 
same  shade  and  a skirt.  Neat-fitting  cavalry  boots  and  a 
plug  hat  complete  the  costume.  Then,  with  a hue  in  one 
hand  and  a cry  in  the  other,  she  is  prepared  to  mount. 
Lead  the  horse  up  to  a stone  wall  or  a freight  car  and 
spring  lightly  into  the  saddle  with  a glad  cry.  A freight 
car  is  the  best  thing  from  which  to  mount  a horse,  but  it  is 
too  unwieldy  and  frequently  delays  the  chase.  For  this 
reason,  too,  much  luggage  should  not  be  carried  on  a fox- 
hunt. Some  gentlemen  carry  a change  of  canes,  neatly  con- 
cealed in  a shawl  strap,  but  even  this  maybe  dispensed  with. 

For  gentlemen,  a dark,  four-button  cutaway  coat, 
with  neat,  loose-fitting,  white  panties,  will  generally  scare  a 
fox  into  convulsions,  so  that  he  may  be  easily  killed  with  a 
club.  A short-waisted  plug  hat  may  be  worn  also,  in  order  to 
distinguish  the  hunter  from  the  whipper-in,  who  wears  a 
baseball  cap.  The  only  fox-hunting  I have  ever  done  was 


on  board  an  impetuous, tough- 
bitted,  fore-and-aft  horse  that 
had  emotional  insanity.  I 
was  dressed  in  a swallow-tail 
coat,  waistcoat  of  Scotch 
plaid  Turkish  toweling,  and 
a pair  of  close-fitting  breeches 
of  etiquette  tucked  into  my 
boot-tops.  As  I was  away 
from  home  at  the  time  and 
could  not  reach  my  own  steed 
1 was  obliged  ^o  mount  a 
spirited  steed  with  high,  in- 
tellectual hips,  one  white  eye 
and  a big  red  nostril  that  you 
could  set  a Shanghai  hen  in. 

This  horse,  as  soon  as  the 
pack  broke  into  full  cry, 
climbed  over  a fence  that  had 
wrought-iron  briers  on  it,  lit  in 
/a  corn  field,  stabbed  his  hind 
' leg  through  a sere  and  yellow 
pumpkin,  which  he  wore  the 
rest  of  the  day,  with  seven 
yards  of  pumpkin  vine  stre- 
aming out  behind,  and  away 
we  dashed  ’cross  country.  I remained  mounted  not  because  I 
enjoyed  it,  for  I did  not,  but  because  I dreaded  to  dis- 
mount. I hated  to  get  off  in  pieces.  If  I can’t  get  off  a 
horse’s  back  as  a whole,  I would  rather  adhere  to  the  horse. 
I will  adhere  that  I did  so. 

We  did  not  see  the  fox,  but  we  saw  almost  everything 
else.  I remember,  among  other  things,  of  riding  through 
a hothouse  and  how  I enjoyed  ii.  A morning  scamper 
through  a conservatory  when  the  syringas  and  Jonquils 


HOW  TO  HUNT  THE  FOX. 


33 


and  Jack  roses  lie  cuddled  up  together  in  their  little  beds, 
is  a thing  to  remember  and  look  back  to  and  pay  for.  Tq 
stand  knee-deep  in  glass  and  gladiolas,  to  smell  the  mashed 
and  mussed  up  mignonette  and  the  last  fragrant  sigh  of  the 
scrunched  heliotrope  beneath  the  hoof  of  your  horse,  while 
far  away  the  deep-mouthed  baying  of  the  hoarse  hounds, 
hotly  hugging  the  reeking  trail  of  the  anise-seed  bag,  calls 
on  the  gorgeously  caparisoned  hills  to  give  back  their  merry 
music  or  fork  it  over  to  other  answering  hills,  is  joy  to  the 
huntsman’s  heart. 

On,  on  I rode  with  my  unconfined  locks  streaming  be- 
hind me  in  the  autumn  wind.  On  and  still  on  I sped,  the 
big,  bright  pumpkin  slipping  up  and  down  the  gambrel  oi 
my  spirited  horse  at  every  jump.  On  and  ever  on  wq 
went,  shedding  terror  and  pumpkin  seeds  along  our  glitter- 
ing track  till  my  proud  steed  ran  his  leg  in  a gopher  hole 
and  fell  over  one  of  those  machines  that  they  put  on  a high- 
headed steer  to  keep  him  from  jumping  fences.  As  the 
horse  fell,  the  necklace  of  this  hickory  poke  flew  up  and 
adjusted  itself  around  my  throat.  In  an  instant  my  steed 
was  on  his  feet  again,  and  gayly  we  went  forward  while  the 
prong  of  this  barbarous  appliance,  ever  and  anon  plowed 
into  a brand  new  culvert  or  rooted  up  a clover  field.  Every 
time  it  ran  into  an  orchard  or  a cemetery  it  would  jar  my 
neck  and  knock  me  silly.  But  I could  see  with  joy  that  it 
reduced  the  speed  of  my  horse.  At  last  as  the  sun  went 
down,  reluctantly,  it  seemed  to  me,  for  he  knew  that  he 
would  never  see  such  riding  again,  my  ill-spent  horse  fell 
with  a hollow  moan,  curled  up,  gave  a spasmodic  quiver 
with  his  little,  nerveless,  sawed-off  tail  and  died. 

The  other  huntsmen  succeeded  in  treeing  the  anise-seed 
bag  at  sundown,  in  time  to  catch  the  6 o’clock  train  home. 

Fox-hunting  is  one  of  the  most  thrilling  pastimes  of 
which  I know,  and  for  young  men  whose  parents  have 
amassed  large  sums  of  money  in  the  intellectual  pursuit  of 


54 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE, 


hides  and  tallow,  the  meet,  the  chase,  the  scamper,  the  full 
cry,  the  cover,  the  stellated  fracture,  the  yelp  of  the  pack, 
the  yip,  the  yell  of  triumph,  the  confusion,  the  whoop,  the 
holla,  the  hallos,  the  hurrah,  the  abrasion,  the  snort  of  thi 
hunter,  the  concussion,  the  sward,  the  open,  the  earth  stop- 
per,  the  strangulated  hernia,  the  glad  cry  of  the  hound  as 
he  brings  home  the  quivering  seat  of  the  peasant’s  panta- 
loons, the  yelp  of  joy  as  he  lays  at  his  master’s  feet,  the 
strawberry  mark  of  the  rustic,  all,  all  are  exhilarating  to  the 
sons  of  our  American  nobility. 

Fox-hunting  combines  the  danger  and  the  wild,  tumult- 
uous joy  of  the  skating-rink,  the  toboggan  slide,  the  mush- 
and-milk  sociable  and  the  straw  ride. 

With  a good  horse,  an  air  cushion,  a reliable  earth-stop- 
per and  an  anise-seed  bag,  a man  must  indeed  be  thorough- 
ly blase  who  can  not  enjoy  a scamper  across  country,  over 
the  Pennsylvania  wold,  the  New  Jersey  mere,  the  Connec- 
ticut moor,  the  Indiana  glade,  the  Missouri  brake,  the 
Michigan  mead,  the  American  tarn,  the  fen,  the  gulch,  the 
buffalo  wallow,  the  cranberry  marsh,  the  glen,  the  draw,  the 
canyon,  the  ravine,  the  forks,  the  bottom  or  the  settlement. 

For  the  young  American  nobleman  whose  ducal  father 
made  his  money  by  inventing  a fluent  pill,  or  who  gained 
his  great  wealth  through  relieving  humanity  by  means  of  a 
lung  pad,  a liver  pad,  a kidney  pad  or  a foot  pad,  fox-hunt- 
ing is  first-rate. 


Tbe  Boy-Friend 


LARENCE,  my  boy-friend, 
hale  and  strong, 

O,  he  is  as  jolly  as  he  is 
young; 

And  all  of  the  laughs  of  the 
lyre  belong 

To  the  boy  all  unsung: 

So  I want  to  sing  something  in 
his  behalf — 

To  clang  some  chords,  o ihe  good  it  is 
To  know  he  is  near,  and  to  -*ve  the  laugh 
Of  that  wholesome  voice  oi  in- 

I want  to  tell  him  in  gentler  ways 

Than  prose  may  do,  that  the  arms  o.  rhyme, 

Warm  and  tender  with  tuneful  praise, 

Are  about  him  all  the  time. 

I want  him  to  know  that  the  quietest  nights 
We  have  passed  together  are  yet  with  me, 
Roistering  over  the  old  delights 
That  were  born  of  his  company. 

I want  him  to  know  how  my  soul  esteems 
The  fairy  stories  of  Andersen, 

And  the  glad  translations  of  all  the  themes 
Of  the  hearts  of  boyish  men- 


NVE  AND  RILEY1  S RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


# 


Want  him  to  know  that  my  fancy  flows. 
With  the  lilt  of  a dear  old-fashioned  tuna, 
Through  “Lewis  Carroll’s’'  poemly  prose, 
And  the  tale  of  “The  Bold  Dragoon.” 

O,  this  is  the  Prince  that  I would  sing — 
Would  drape  and  garnish  in  velvet  line, 
Since  courtlier  far  than  any  king 
Is  this  brave  boy-friend  of  mine ! 


A Letter  of  AGGeptariee, 

The  secretary  of  the  Ashfield  Farmers’  Club,  of  Ash- 
field,  Mass.,  Mr.  E.  D.  Church,  informs  me  by  United 
States  mail  that  upon  receipt  of  my  favorable  reply  I will 
become  an  honorary  member  of  that  club,  along  with  George 
William  Curtis,  Prof.  Norton,  Prof.  Stanley  Hall,  of  Har- 
vard, and  other  wet-browed  toilers  in  the  catnip-infested 
domain  of  Agriculture. 

I take  this  method  of  thanking  the  Ashfield  Farmers* 
Club,  through  its  secretary,  for  the  honor  thus  all  so 
unworthily  bestowed,  and  joyfully  accept  the  honorary  mem- 
bership, with  the  understanding,  however,  that  during  the 
County  Fair  the  solemn  duty  of  delivering  the  annual 
address  from  the  judges*  stand,  in  tones  that  will  not  only 
ring  along  down  the  corridors  of  time,  but  go  thundering 
three  times  around  a half-mile  track  and  be  heard  above  the 
rhythmic  plunk  of  the  hired  man  who  is  trying  to  ascertain, 
by  means  of  a large  mawl  and  a thumping  machine,  how 
hard  he  can  strike,  shall  fall  upon  Mr.  Curtis  or  other 
honorary  members  of  the  club.  I have  a voice  that  does 
very  well  to  express  endearment,  or  other  subdued  emo- 
tions, but  it  is  not  effective  at  a County  Fair.  Spectators 
see  the  wonderful  play  of  my  features,  but  they  only  hear 
the  low  refrain  of  the  haughty  Clydesdale  steed,  who  has 
a neighsal  voice  and  wears  his  tail  in  a Grecian  coil.  I 
received  $150  once  for  addressing  a race-track  one  mile  in 
length  on  “ The  Use  and  Abuse  of  Ensilage  as  a Narcotic.” 
I made  the  gestures,  but  tne  sentiments  were  those  of  thf 
rour-ton  Percheron  charger, Little  Medicine,  dam  Eloquent 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  CUihB. 


0 


I spoke  under  a low  shed  and  rather  adverse  circurm 
stances.  In  talking  with  the  committee  afterwards,  as  1 
wrapped  up  my  gestures  and  put  them  back  in  the  shawl 


strap,  I said  that  I felt  almost  ashamed  to  receive  such  a 
price  for  the  sentiments  of  others,  but  they  said  that  was  alJ 
right.  No  one  expected  to  hear  an  Agricultural  Address 


They  claimed  that  it  was  most  generally  puiely  spectacular, 
and  so  they  regarded  my  speech  as  a great  success.  I used 
the  same  gestures  afterwards  in  speaking  of  “The  Great 
Falling  Off  Among  Bare-Back  Riders  in  the  Circuses  of 
the  Present  Day.” 

I would  also  like  to  be  excused  from  any  duties  as  a 
judge  of  curly-faced  stock  or  as  an  umpire  of  ornamental 
needlework.  After  a person  has  had  a fountain  pen  kicked 
endwise  through  his  chest  by  the  animal  to  which  he  has 
awarded  the  prize,  and  later  on  has  his  features  worked  up 
into  a giblet  pie  by  the  owner  of  the  animal  to  whom  he  did 
not  award  the  prize,  he  does  not  ask  for  public  recognition  at 
the  hands  of  his  fellow-citizens.  It  is  the  same  in  the  mat- 
ter of  ornamental  needlework  and  gaudy  quilts,  which  goad 
a man  to  drink  and  death.  While  I am  proud  to  belong  to 
a farmers’  club  and  “change  works  ” with  a hearty,  whole- 
souled  ploughman  like  George  William  Curtis,  I hope  that 
at  all  County  Fairs  or  other  intellectual  hand-to-hand  con- 
tests between  outdoor  orators  and  other  domestic  animals, 
I may  be  excused,  and  that  when  judges  of  inflamed  slum- 
ber robes  and  restless  tidies,  which  roll  up  and  fall  over  the 
floor  or  adhere  to  the  backs  of  innocent  people;  or  stiff,  hard 
Doric  pillow-shams  which  do  not  in  any  way  enhance  the 
joys  of  sleep;  or  beautiful,  pale-blue  satin  pincushions,  which 
it  would  be  wicked  to  put  a pin  in  and  which  will  therefore 
ever  and  forevermore  mock  the  man  who  really  wants  a pin, 
just  as  a beautiful  match-safe  stands  idly  through  the  long 
vigils  of  the  night,  year  after  year,  only  to  laugh  at  the  man 
who  staggers  towards  it  and  falls  up  against  it  and  finds  it 
empty;  or  like  the  glorious  inkstand  which  is  so  pretty  and 
so  fragile  that  it  stands  around  with  its  hands  in  its  pockets 
acquiring  dust  and  dead  flies  for  centuries,  so  that  when 
you  are  in  a hurry  you  stick  your  pen  into  a small  chamber 
of  horrors — I say  when  the  judges  are  selected  for  this 
department  I would  rather  have  my  omitted  from  the 


*0  NTE  AND  IU LET’S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 

panel,  as  I have  formed  or  expressed  an  opinion  and  have 
reasonable  doubts  and  conscientious  scruples  which  it 
would  require  testimony  to  remove,  and  I am  not  quali- 
fied anyway,  and  I have  been  already  placed  in  jeopardy 
once,  and  that  is  enough. 

Mr.  Church  writes  that  the  club  has  taken  up,  dis- 
cussed and  settled  all  points  of  importance  bearing  upon 
Agriculture,  from  the  tariff  up  to  the  question  of  whether 
or  not  turpentine  poured  in  a cow’s  ear  ameliorates  the 
pangs  of  hollow  horn.  He  desires  suggestions  and  ques- 
tions for  discussion.  That  shows  the  club  to  be  thoroughly 
alive.  It  will  soon  be  Spring,  and  we  cannot  then  discuss 
these  matters.  New  responsibilities  will  be  added  day  by 
day  in  the  way  of  stock,  and  we  will  have  to  think  of 
names  for  them.  Would  it  not  be  well  before  the  time 
comes  for  active  farm  work  to  think  out  a long  list  of 
names  before  the  little  strangers  arrive?  Nothing  serves  to 
lower  us  in  the  estimation  of  our  fellow-farmers  or  the 
world  more  than  the  frequent  altercations  between  owners 
and  their  hired  help  over  what  name  they  shall  give  a weary, 
wobbly  calf  who  has  just  entered  the  great  arena  of  life,  full 
of  hopes  and  aspirations,  perhaps,  but  otherwise  absolutely 
empty.  Let  us  consid  ;r  this  before  Spring  fairly  opens,  so 
that  '*re  may  be  prepared  for  anything  of  this  kind. 

One  more  point  may  properly  come  before  the  club  at 
its  next  meeting,  and  I mention  it  here  because  I may  be 
so  busy  at  Washington  looking  after  our  other  interests  that 
I cannot  get  to  the  elm  meeting.  I refer  to  the  evident 
change  in  climate  here  from  year  to  year,  and  its  effect 
upon  seeds  purchased  of  florists  and  seedsmen  generally. 

Twenty  years  ago  you  could  plant  a seed  according  to 
directions  and  it  would  produce  a plant  which  seemed  to 
resemble  in  a general  way  the  picture  on  the  outside  of  the 
package.  Now,  under  the  fluctuating  influences  of  irre- 
sponsible isotherms,  phlegmatic  Springs, rare  June  weathef 


and  overdone  weather  in  August,  i find  it  almost  impossible 
to  produce  a plant  or  vegetable  which  in  any  way  resembles 
its  portrait.  Is  it  my  fault  or  the  fault  of  the  climate  ? I 
wish  the  club  would  take  hold  of  this  at  its  next  regular 
meeting.  I first  noticed  the  change  in  the  summer  of  ’72, 
I think.  I purchased  a small  package  of  early  Scotch  plaid 
curled  kale  with  a beautiful  picture  on  the  outside.  It  was 
as  good  a picture  of  Scotch  kale  as  I ever  saw.  I could 
imagine  how  gay  and  light-hearted  it  was  the  day  it  went  up 
to  the  studio  and  had  its  picture  taken  for  this  purpose. 
A short  editorial  paragraph  under  the  picture  stated  that  I 
should  plant  in  quick,  rich  soil,  in  rows  four  inches  apart, 
to  a depth  of  one  inch,  cover  lightly  and  then  roll.  I did 
so.  No  farmer  of  my  years  enjoys  rolling  better  than  I do. 

In  a few  weeks  the  kale  came  up  but  turned  out  to  be  a 
canard.  I then  waited  two  weeks  more  and  other  forms  of 
vegetation  made  their  appearance.  None  of  them  were 
kale.  A small  delegation  of  bugs  which  deal  mostly  with 
kale  came  into  the  garden  one  day,  looked  at  the  picture  on 
the  discarded  paper,  then  examined  what  had  crawled  out 
through  the  ground  and  went  away.  I began  to  fear  then 
that  climatic  influences  had  been  at  work  on  the  seeds,  but 
I had  not  fully  given  up  all  hope. 

At  first  the  plants  seemed  to  waver  and  hesitate  over 
whether  they  had  better  be  wild  parsnips  or  Lima  beans. 
Then  I concluded  that  they  had  decided  to  be  foliage 
plants  or  rhubarb.  But  they  did  not  try  to  live  up  to  their 
portraits.  Pretty  soon  I discovered  that  they  had  no  bugs 
which  seemed  to  go  with  them,  and  then  I knew  they  were 
weeds.  Things  that  are  good  to  eat  always  have  bugs  and 
worms  on  them,  while  tansy  and  castor-oil  go  through  life 
unmolested. 

I ordered  a new  style  of  gladiola  eight  years  ago  of  a 
man  who  had  his  portrait  in  the  bow  of  his  seed  catalogue. 
If  he  succeeds  no  better  in  resembling  his  portrait  than  his 


42  NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE . 

gladiolas  did  in  resembling  theirs,  he  must  be  a human 
onion  whose  presence  may  easily  be  detected  at  a great  dis- 
tance. 

Last  year  I planted  the  seeds  of  a watermelon  which  I 
bought  of  a New  York  seedsman  who  writes  war  articles 
winters  and  sells  garden  seeds  in  the  Spring.  The  portrait 
of  this  watermelon  would  tempt  most  any  man  to  climb  a 
nine-rail  fence  in  the  dead  of  night  and  forget  all  else  in  order 
to  drown  his  better  nature  and  his  nose  in  its  cool  bosom. 
People  came  for  miles  to  look  at  the  picture  of  this  melon 
and  went  away  with  a pleasant  taste  in  their  mouths. 

The  plants  were  a little  sluggish,  though  I planted  in 
hills  far  apart  each  way  in  a rich  warm  loam  enriched  by 
everything  that  could  make  a sincere  watermelon  get  up  and 
hump  itself.  The  melons  were  to  be  very  large  indeed, 
with  a centre  like  a rose.  According  to  the  picture,  these 
melons  generally  grew  so  large  and  plenty  that  most  every- 
body had  to  put  side-boards  on  the  garden  fence  to  keep 
them  from  falling  over  into  other  farms  and  annoying  people 
who  had  all  the  melons  they  needed.  I fought  squash  bugs, 
cut  worms,  Hessian  flies,  chinch  bugs,  curculio,  mange,  pip, 
drought,  dropsy,  caterpillars  and  contumely  till  the  latter 
part  of  August,  when  a friend  from  India  came  to  visit  me. 
I decided  to  cut  a watermelon  in  honor  of  his  arrival.  When 
the  proper  moment  had  arrived  and  the  dinner  had  pro- 
gressed till  the  point  of  fruit,  the  tropical  depths  of  my 
garden  gave  up  their  season’s  wealth  in  the  shape  of  a low- 
browed citron  about  as  large  and  succulent  as  a hot  ball. 

I have  had  other  similar  experiences,  and  I think  we 
ought  to  do  something  about  it  if  we  can.  I have  planted 
the  seed  of  the  morning  glory  and  the  moon  flower  and 
dreamed  at  night  that  my  home  looked  like  a florist’s  adver- 
tisement, but  when  leafy  June  came  a bunch  of  Norway  oats 
and  a hill  of  corn  were  trying  to  climb  the  strings  nailed  up 
for  the  use  of  my  non-resident  vines.  I have  planted  with 


A LETTER  OF  ACCEPTANCE. 


43 


song  and  laughter  the  seeds  of  the  ostensible  pansy  and 
carnation,  only  in  tears  to  reap  the  bachelor’s  button  and 
the  glistening  foliage  of  the  sorghum  plant.  I have  planted 
in  faith  and  a deep,  warm  soil,  with  pleasing  hope  in  my 
heart  and  a dark-red  picture  on  the  outside  of  the  package, 
only  to  harvest  the  low,  vulgar  jimson  weed  and  the  night- 
blooming  bull  thistle. 

Does  the  mean  temperature  or  the  average  rainfall  have 
anything  to  do  with  it?  If  statistics  are  working  these 
changes  they  ought  to  be  stopped.  For  my  own  part,  how- 
ever, I am  led  to  believe  that  our  seedsmen  put  so  much 
money  into  their  catalogues  that  they  do  not  have  anything 
left  to  use  in  the  purchase  of  seeds.  Good  religion  and 
very  fair  cookies  may  be  produced  without  the  aid  of  cara- 
way seed,  but  you  cannot  gather  nice,  fresh  train  figs  of 
thistles  or  expect  much  of  a seedsman  whose  plants  make 
no  effort  whatever  to  resemble  their  pictures. 

Hoping  that  you  will  examine  into  this  matter,  and  that 
the  club  will  always  hereafter  look  carefully  in  this  column 
for  its  farm  information,  I remain,  in  a sitting  posture,  yours 
truly.  Bill  Nye. 


It]  tlje  /\fterr(ooi|T 

You  in  the  hammock;  and  I,  near  by, 

Was  trying  to  read,  and  to  swing  you,  too; 

And  the  green  of  the  sward  was  so  kind  to  the  eye, 
And  the  shade  of  the  maples  so  cool  and  blue, 
That  often  I looked  from  the  book  to  you 
To  say  as  much,  with  a sigh. 

You  in  the  hammock.  The  book  we’d  brought 
From  the  parlor — to  read  in  the  open  air, — 
Something  of  love  and  of  Launcelot 
And  Guinevere,  I believe,  was  there — 

But  the  afternoon,  it  was  far  more  fair 
Than  the  poem  was,  I thought. 

You  in  the  hammock;  and  on  and  on 

I droned  and  droned  through  the  rhythmic  stuff— 
But  with  always  a half  of  my  vision  gone 
Over  the  top  of  the  page — enough 
To  caressingly  gaze  at  you,  swathed  in  the  fluff 
Of  your  hair  and  your  odorous  lawn. 

You  in  the  hammock — And  that  was  a year— 

Fully  a year  ago,  I guess! — 

And  what  do  we  care  for  their  Guinevere 
And  her  Launcelot  and  their  lordliness  !— 

You  in  the  hammock  still,  and — Yes- 
Kiss  me  again,  my  dear! 


Tlie  Rise  at]d  Fall  of  William 
tJofmsorp 

(A  CHRISTMAS  STORY.) 

T HAS  always  been 
one  of  my  pet  notions 
that  on  Christmas  day 
we  ought  not  to  re* 
member  those  only 
who  may  be  related 
to  us  and  those  who 
are  prosperous,  but, 
that  we  should,  while 
remembering  them, 
forget  not  the  unfor* 
tunate  who  are  dead 
to  all  the  world  but 
themselves  and  who 
suffer  in  prison  walls, 
not  alone  for  their  own 
crimes,  perhaps,  but 
for  the  crimes  of  their 
parents  and  their 
grandparents  before  them.  Few  of  the  prosperous  and 
happy  pause  today  to  think  of  the  convict  whose  days  are 
all  alike  and  whose  nights  are  filled  with  bitterness. 

At  the  risk  of  being  dull  and  prosy,  I am  going  to  tell  a 
story  that  is  not  especially  humorous  or  pathetic,  but  merely 


true.  Every  Christmas  I try  to  tell  a true  story.  I do  not 
want  the  day  to  go  by  without  some  sort  of  recognition  by 
which  to  distinguish  it  from  other  days,  and  so  I celebrate  it 
in  that  way. 

This  is  the  story  of  William  Johnson,  a Swede,  who  went 
to  Wyoming  Territory,  perhaps  fifteen  years  ago,  to  seek  his 
fortune  among  strangers,  and  who,  without  even  a knowl- 
edge of  the  English  language,  began  in  his  patient  way  to 
work  at  whatever  his  hands  found  to  do.  He  was  a plain, 
long-legged  man,  with  downcast  eyes  and  nose. 

There  was  some  surprise  expressed  all  around  when  he 
was  charged  one  day  by  Jake  Feinn  with  feloniously  taking, 
stealing,  carrying  away  and  driving  away  one  team  of  horses, 
the  property  of  the  affiant,  and  of  the  value  of  $200,  contrary 
to  the  statutes  in  such  case  made  and  provided,  and  against 
the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  Territory  of  Wyoming. 

Everybody  laughed  at  the  idea  of  Jake  Feinn  owning  a 
team  worth  §200,  and,  as  he  was  also  a chronic  litigator,  it 
was  generally  conceded  that  Johnson  would  be  discharged. 
But  his  misfortunes  seemed  to  swoop  down  on  him  from  the 
very  first  moment.  At  the  preliminary  examination  Johnson 
acted  like  a man  who  was  dazed.  He  couldn’t  talk  or  under- 
stand English  very  well.  He  failed  to  get  a lawyer.  He 
pleaded  guilty,  not  knowning  what  it  meant,  and  was  per- 
mitted to  take  it  back.  He  had  no  witnesses,  and  the  Court 
was  in  something  of  a hurry  as  it  had  to  prepare  a speech 
that  afternoon  to  be  delivered  in  the  evening  on  the  “Beau- 
ties of  Eternal  Justice,”  and  so  it  was  adjudged  that  in 
default  of  $500  bail  the  said  William  Johnson  be  committed 
to  the  County  Jail  of  Albany  County  in  said  Territory,  there 
to  await  the  action  of  the  Grand  Jury  for  the  succeeding 
term  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Second  Judicial  District 
of  Wyoming. 

Meekly  and  silently  William  Johnson  left  the  warm  and 
stimulating  Indian  summer  air  of  October  to  enter  the  dark 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE . 


and  undesirable  den  of  a felon.  Patiently  he  accepted  the 
heart-breaking  destiny  which  seemed  really  to  belong  to 
someone  else.  He  put  in  his  days  studying  an  English 
primer  all  the  forenoon  and  doing  housework  around  the 
jail  kitchen  in  the  afternoon. 

He  was  a very  tall  man  and  a very  awkward  man,  with 
large,  intellectual  joints  and  a sad  face.  When  he  got  so 
that  he  could  read  a little  I went  in  to  hear  him  one  day. 


He  stood  up  like  an  exaggerated  schoolboy,  and  while  he 
bored  holes  in  the  page  of  his  primer  with  a long  and 
corneous  forefinger  he  read  that  little  poem : 

Pray  tell  me,  bird,  what  you  can  see 
Up  in  the  top  of  that  tall  tree  ? 

Have  you  no  fear  that  some  rude  boy 
May  come  and  mar  your  peace  and  joy  ? 
****** 

Oh,  no,  my  child,  I fear  no  harm, 

While  with  my  song  I thus  can  charm. 

My  mate  is  here,  my  youngsters,  too, 

And  here  we  sit  and  sing  to  you. 


Finally,  the  regular  term  of  the  District  Court  opened. 
Men  who  had  come  for  a long  distance  to  vaunt  their  igno- 
rance and  other  qualifications  as  jurors  could  be  seen  on 
the  streets.  Here  and  there  you  could  see  the  familiar 
faces  of  those  who  had  served  as  jurors  for  years  and  yet 
had  never  lost  a case.  Wealthy  delinquents  began  to  sub- 
poena large  detachments  of  witnesses  at  the  expense  of  the 
county,  and  the  poor  petty  larceny  people  in  the  jail  began 
to  wonder  why  their  witnesses  didn’t  show  up.  Slowly  the 
wheels  of  Justice  began  to  revolve.  Ever  and  anon  could 
be  heard  the  strident  notes  which  came  from  the  room 
where  the  counsel  for  the  defense  was  filing  his  objections, 
while  now  and  then  the  ear  was  startled  with  the  low  quash 
of  the  indictment. 

Finally  the  case  of  the  Territory  against  William  John- 
son was  called. 

“ Mr.  Johnson,”  asked  Judge  Blair,  “ have  you  counsel?” 

The  defendant  said  he  had  not. 

“ Are  you  able  to  employ  counsel  ? ” 

He  evidently  wasn’t  able  to  employ  counsel  twenty 
minutes,  even  if  it  could  be  had  at  a dollar  a day. 

“ Do  you  wish  to  have  the  Court  appoint  counsel  for 
you  ? ” 

He  saw  no  other  way,  so  he  said  yes. 

Where  criminals  are  too  poor  to  employ  counsel  the 
Court  selects  a poor  but  honest  young  lawyer,  who  practices 
on  the  defendant.  I was  appointed  that  way  myself  once 
to  defend  a man  who  swears  he  will  kill  me  as  soon  as  he 
gets  out  of  the  penitentiary. 

Wm.  Johnson  was  peculiarly  unfortunate  in  the  election 
of  his  counsel.  The  man  who  was  appointed  to  defend  him 
was  a very  much  overestimated  young  man  who  started 
the  movement  himself.  He  was  courageous,  however,  and 
perfectly  willing  to  wade  in  where  angels  would  naturally 
hang  back.  His  brain  would  not  have  soiled  the  finest 


fabric,  but  his  egotism  had  a biceps  muscle  or  it  Lee  a loaf 
of  Vienna  bread.  He  was  the  kind  of  yo  man  who 
loves  to  go  and  see  the  drama  and  explain  mong  about 
five  minutes  in  advance  of  the  company  in  iuud,  trench- 
ant voice. 

He  defended  William  Johnson.  Thus  u.  the  prime  of 
life,  hardly  understanding  a word  of  the  trial,  stunned, 
helpless,  alone,  the  latter  began  upon  his  term  of  five  years 
in  the  penitentiary.  His  patient,  geutle  lace  impressed 
me  as  it  did  others,  and  his  very  helplessness  thus  became 
his  greatest  help. 

It  is  not  egotism  which  prompts  me  tc  tell  here  of  what 
followe,d.  It  was  but  natural  that  I should  go  to  Judge 
Blair,  who,  besides  being  the  most  popular  Judge  in  the 
West,  had,  as  I knew,  a kind  heart.  He  agreed  with  me 
that  Johnson’s  side  of  the  case  had  not  been  properly 
presented  and  that  the  jury  had  grave  doubts  about  the 
horses  having  been  worth  enough  to  constitute  a felony 
even  if  Johnson  had  unlawfully  taken  them.  Other  law- 
yers said  that  at  the  worst  it  was  a civil  offense,  or  trover, 
or  trespass,  or  wilful  negligence,  or  embezzlement,  or  con- 
version, but  that  the  remedy  was  by  civil  process.  One 
lawyer  said  it  was  an  outrage,  and  Charlie  Bramel  said 
that  if  Johnson  would  put  up  $50  he  would  agree  to  jerk 
him  out  of  the  jug  on  a writ  of  habeas  corpus  before 
dinner. 

Seeing  how  the  sentiment  ran,  I resolved  to  start  a 
petition  for  Johnson 7s  pardon.  I got  the  signatures  of  the 
Court,  the  court  officers,  the  jury  and  the  leading  men  of 
business  in  the  county.  Just  as  I was  about  to  take  it  to 
Gov.  Thayer,  there  was  an  incident  at  the  penitentiary. 
Wm.  Johnson  had  won  the  hearts  of  the  Warden  and  the 
guards  to  that  extent  that  he  was  sent  out  one  afternoon 
to  assist  one  of  the  guards  in  overseeing  the  labor  of  a 
squad  working  in  a stone  quarry  near  by.  Taking 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  IVAf.  JOHNSON. 


advantage  of  a time  when  the  guard  was  a few  hundred 
feet  away,  the  other  convicts  knocked  Johnson  down  and 
tried  to  get  away.  He  got  up,  however,  and  interested 
them  till  the  guard  got  to  him  and  the  escape  was  pre- 
vented. Johnson  waited  till  all  was  secure  again,  and  then 
fainted  from  loss  of  blood  occasioned  by  a scalp  wound  over 
which  he  had  a lau*  fight  afterward  with  erysipelas. 


This  was  all  lucky  for  me,  and  when  I presented  the 
petition  to  the  Governor  I had  a strong  case,  made  more  so 
by  the  he  oic  action  *\  man  who  had  been  unjustly  con- 
demned. 

There  is  but  little  more  to  tell.  The  Governor  intimated 
that  he  would  take  favorable  action  upon  the  petition,  but 
he  wanted  time.  My  great  anxiety,  as  I told  him,  was  to 
get  the  pardon  in  time  so  that  Johnson  could  spend  his 


si  W>2i  AkJj  kiLLY-  'i  KAIL  W A r GLiisjH* 

Christmas  in  freedom.  I had  seen  him  frequently,  and 
was  pale  and  thin  to  emaciation.  He  could  not  live  long  i* 
he  remained  where  he  was.  I spoke  earnestly  of  his  good 
character  since  his  incarceration,  and  the  Governor  promised 
prompt  action.  But  he  was  called  away  in  December  and 
I feared  that  he  might,  in  the  rush  and  pressure  of  othei 
business,  forget  the  case  of  Johnson  till  after  the  holidays. 
So  I telegraphed  him  and  made  his  life  a burden  to  him  till 
the  afternoon  of  the  24th,  when  the  4:50  train  brought  the 
pardon.  In  my  poor,  weak  way  I have  been  in  the  habit 
for  some  years  of  making  Christmas  presents,  but  nothing 
that  could  be  bought  with  money  ever  made  me  a happier 
donor  or  donee  than  the  simple  act  of  giving  to  William  John- 
son four  years  of  freedom  which  he  did  not  look  for. 

I went  away  to  spend  my  own  Christmas,  but  not  tilt  I 
had  given  Johnson  a few  dollars  to  help  him  get  another 
start,  and  had  made  him  promise  to  write  me  how  he  got 
along.  And  so  that  to  me  was  a memorable  and  a joyous 
Christmas,  for  I had  made  myself  happy  by  making  others 
happy.  Bill  Nye. 

P.  S. — Perhaps  I ought  not  to  close  this  account  so  ab- 
ruptly as  I have  done,  for  the  reader  will  naturally  ask 
whether  Johnson  ever  wrote  me,  as  he  said  he  would.  1 
only  received  one  letter  from  him,  and  that  I found  when 
I got  back,  a few  days  after  Christmas.  It  was  quite  charac- 
teristic, and  read  as  follows  : 

“ Laramy  the  twenty-fitt  dec 

Frent  Nie. 

“ When  you  get  this  Letter  i will  Be  in  A nuther  tearri* 
lory  whare  the  weekid  seize  from  trubbling  & the  weery  aii 
at  Reast  excoose  my  Poor  writing  i refer  above  to  the  team- 
cory  of  Utaw  where  i will  begin  Life  A new  & all  will  be 
fergott. 

M I hop  god  wii  Reward  you  In  Caise  i Shood  not  B*> 
Abel  to  Do  so. 


THE  RISE  AND  FALL  OF  WM.  JOHNSON . ,3 

“ You  have  Bin  a good  irent  off  me  and  so  I am  shure  ou 
will  enjoy  to  heer  of  my  success  i hope  the  slooth  hoi  ads 
of  Justiss  will  not  try  to  lly  me  for  it  will  be  worse  than 
Useles  as  i hav  a damsite  setter  team  than  i had  Before. 

“ It  is  the  Sheariff’s  team  wich  i have  got  & his  name  is 
denis,  tel  the  Governer  to  Parden  me  if  i have  seeamed  Rude 
i shall  go  to  some  new  Plais  whare  i will  not  be  Looked  upon 
with  Suchpishion  wishing  you  a mary  Crissmus  hapy  new 
^Te,ar  and  April  Fool  i will  Close  from  your  tru  Frent 

“ bil  Johnson  " 


Froti]  Delphi  to  Canideil' 


1. 

From  Delphi  to  Camden — little  Hoosier  towns, — 

But  here  were  classic  meadows,  blooming  dales  and  downs 
And  here  were  grassy  pastures,  dewy  as  the  leas 
Trampled  over  by  the  trains  of  royal  pageantries.  . 

And  here  the  winding  highway  loitered  through  the  shade 
Of  the  hazel-covert,  where,  in  ambuscade, 

Loomed  the  larch  and  linden,  and  the  green-wood  tree 
Under  which  bold  Robin  Hood  loud  hallooed  to  me! 


Here  the  stir  and  riot  of  the  busy  day, 

Dwindled  to  the  quiet  of  the  breath  of  May; 

Gurgling  brooks,  and  ridges  lily-marged,  and  spanned 
By  the  rustic  bridges  found  in  Wonderland! 

II. 

From  Delphi  to  Camden — from  Camden  back  again!— 

And  now  the  night  was  on  us,  and  the  lightning  and  the  rain ; 
And  still  the  way  was  wondrous  with  the  flash  of  hill  and 
plain, — 

The  stars  like  printed  asterisks — the  moon  a murky  stain ! 
And  I thought  of  tragic  idyl,  and  of  flight  and  hot  pursuit, 
And  the  jingle  of  the  bridle,  and  cuirass,  and  spur  on  boot, 
As  our  horses’  hooves  struck  showers  from  the  flinty 
bowlders  set 

In  freshet  ways  with  writhing  reed  and  drowning  violet. 

And  we  passed  beleaguered  castles,  with  their  battlements 
a-frown ; 

Where  a tree  fell  in  the  forest  was  a turret  toppled  down ; 
While  my  master  and  commander — the  brave  knight  3 
galloped  with 

On  this  reckless  road  to  ruin,  or  to  fame,  was — Dr.  Smith ! 


wMj  e\l  {gov 


*38®hI 


OMETIMES  a sad,  homesick  feeling 
comes  over  me,  when  I compare  the  pre- 
vailing style  of  anecdote  and  school  liter- 
ature with  the  old  McGuffey  brand,  so 
well  known  thirty  years  ago.  Today  our 
juvenile  literature,  it  seems  to  me,  is  so 
transparent,  so  easy  to  understand  that 
I am  not  surprised  to  learn  that  the  rising 
generation  shows  signs  of  lawlessness. 

Boys  today  do  not  use  the  respectful  language  and  large, 
luxuriant  words  that  they  did  when  Mr.  McGuffey  used  to 
stand  around  and  report  their  conversations  for  his  justly  cele- 
brated school  reader.  It  is  disagreeable  to  think  of,  but  it  is 
none  the  less  true,  and  for  one  I think  we  should  face  the  facts. 

I ask  the  careful  student  of  school  literature  to  compare 
the  following  selection,  which  I have  written  myself  with 
great  care,  and  arranged  with  special  reference  to  the  matter 
of  choice  and  difficult  words,  with  the  flippant  and  common- 
place terms  used  in  the  average  school  book  of  today. 

One  day  as  George  Pillgarlic  was  going  to  his  tasks,  and 
while  passing  through  the  wood,  he  spied  a tall  man  ap- 
proaching in  an  opposite  direction  along  the  highway. 

“ Ah ! ” thought  George,  in  a low,  mellow  tone  of  voice, 
“ whom  have  we  here  ? ” 


' Good  morning,  my  fine  fellow,’1  exclaimed  the  stranger, 
pleasantly.  “ Do  you  reside  in  this  locality?  ” 

“Indeed  I do,”  retorted  George,  cheerily,  doffing  his  cap. 
“ In  yonder  cottage,  near  the  glen,  my  widowed  mother  and 
her  thirteen  children  dwell  with  me.” 

“ And  is  your  father  dead  ? ” exclaimed  the  man,  with  a 
rising  inflection. 

“ Extremely  so,”  murmured  the  lad,  “ and,  oh,  sir,  that  is 
why  my  poor  mother  is  a widow.” 

“And  how  did  your  papa  die?”  asked  the  man,  as  he 
thoughtfully  stood  on  the  other  foot  awhile. 

“ Alas ! sir,”  said  George,  as  a large  hot  tear  stole  down  his 
pale  cheek,  and  fell  with  a loud  report  on  the  warty  surface 
of  his  bare  foot,  “ he  was  lost  at  sea  in  a bitter  gale.  The 
good  ship  foundered  two  years  ago  last  Christmastide,  and 
father  was  foundered  at  the  same  time.  No  one  knew  of  the 
loss  of  the  ship  and  that  the  crew  was  drowned  until  the  next 
spring,  and  it  was  then  too  late.” 

“And  what  is  your  age,  my  fine  fellow?”  quoth  the 
stranger. 

“ If  I live  till  next  October,”  said  the  boy,  in  a declamatory 
tone  of  voice  suitable  for  a Second  Reader,  “ I will  be  seven 
years  of  age.” 

“ And  who  provides  for  your  mother  and  her  large  family 
of  children  ? ” queried  the  man. 

“ Indeed  I do,  sir,”  replied  George,  in  a shrill  tone.  “ I 
toil,  oh,  so  hard,  sir,  for  we  are  very,  very  poor,  and  since  my 
elder  sister,  Ann,  was  married  and  brought  her  husband 
home  to  live  with  us,  I have  to  toil  more  assiduously  than 
heretofore.” 

“ And  by  what  means  do  you  obtain  a livelihood  ? ” ex- 
claimed the  man,  in  slowly  measured  and  grammatical  words. 

“ By  digging  wells,  kind  sir,”  replied  George,  picking  up  a 
tired  ant  as  he  spoke  and  stroking  it  on  the  back.  “ I have 
a good  education,  and  so  I am  able  to  dig  wells  as  well  as  a 


man.  I do  this  day-times  and  take  in  washing  at  night.  In 
this  way  I am  enabled  barely  to  maintain  our  family  in  a 
precarious  manner ; but,  oh,  sir,  should  my  other  sisters  mairy, 
I fear  that  some  of  my  brothers-in-law  would  have  to  suffer.’5 
“And  do  you  not  fear  the  deadly  fire-damp.''  ” asked  the 
stranger  in  an  earnest  tone. 

“ Not  by  a damp  sight,”  answered  George,  with  a low 
gurgling  laugh,  for  he  was  a great  wag. 

“ You  are  indeed  a brave  lad,”  exclaimed  the  stranger,  as 
he  repressed  a smile.  “And  do  you  not  at  times  become 
very  weary  and  wish  for  other  ways  of  passing  your  time  ? ” 

“ Indeed  I do,  sir,”  said  the  lad.  “ I would  fain  run  and 
romp  and  be  gay  like  other  boys,  but  I must  engage  in  con- 
stant manual  exercise,  or  we  will  have  no  bread  to  eat,  and  I 
have  not  seen  a pie  since  papa  perished  in  the  moist  and 
moaning  sea.” 

“ And  what  if  I were  to  tell  you  that  your  papa  did  not 
perish  at  sea,  but  was  saved  from  a humid  grave  ? ” asked  the 
stranger  in  pleasing  tones. 

“ Ah,  sir,”  exclaimed  George,  in  a genteel  manner,  again 
doffing  his  cap,  “ I am  too  polite  to  tell  you  what  I would  say, 
and  beside,  sir,  you  are  much  larger  than  I am.” 

“ But,  my  brave  lad,”  said  the  man  in  low  musical  tones, 
“ do  you  not  know  me,  Georgie  ? Oh,  George ! ” 

“ I must  say,”  replied  George,  “ that  you  have  the  advan- 
tage of  me.  Whilst  I may  have  met  you  before,  I cannot  at 
this  moment  place  v~u,  sir.” 

“ My  son!  oh  ' son!  ” murmured  the  man,  at  the  same 
time  taking  a lar  strawberry  mark  out  of  his  valise  and 
showing  it  to  the  \d,  “Do  you  not  recognize  your  parent 
on  your  father’s  sii  .~  When  our  good  ship  went  to  the  bot- 
tom, all  perished  xve  me.  I swam  several  miles  through 
the  billows,  and  at  Iasi  utterly  exhausted,  gave  up  all  hope 
of  life.  Suddenly  I terped  on  something  hard.  It  was  the 
United  States- 


THE  GRAMMATICAL  BOY 


so 

“ And  now,  my  brave  boy,”  exclaimed  the  man  with  great 
glee,  “see  what  I have  brought  for  you.”  It  was  but  the 
work  of  a moment  to  unclasp  from  a shawl-strap  which  he 
held  in  his  hand  and  present  to  George’s  astonished  gaze  a 
large  40-cent  water-melon,  which  until  now  had  been  con- 
cealed by  the  shawl-strap. 


HIS  CRAZY  BONE. 


f-fis  CraZy-Bot]e. 

The  man  that  struck  his  crazy-bone. 

All  suddenly  jerked  up  one  foot 
And  hopped  three  vivid  hops,  and  put 
His  elbow  straight  before  him — then 

Flashed  white  as  pallid  Parian  stone, 

And  clinched  his  eyes,  and  hopped  again. 

He  spake  no  word — he  made  no  moan — 

He  muttered  no  invective — but 
Just  gripped  his  eyelids  tighter  shut, 

And  as  the  the  world  whizzed  past  him  then. 

He  only  knew  his  crazy-bone 

Was  stricken — so — he  hopped  again. 


Tifg  of  file  Caroling  ^ 

Asheville,  N.  C.  Dec.  13. — Last  week  I went  out  into 
the  mountains  for  the  purpose  of  securing  a holly  tret  with 
red  berries  on  it  for  Yuletide.  I had  noticed  in  all  my 
pictures  oi  Christmas  festivities  in  England  that  the  holly, 
with  cranberries  on  it,  constituted  the  background  of  Yule- 
tide.  A Yuletide  in  England  without  a holly  bough  and  a 
little  mistletoe  in  it  wouldn’t  be  worth  half  price.  Here 
these  vegetables  grow  in  great  profusion,  owing  to  the  equa- 
ble climate,  and  so  the  holly  tree  is  within  the  reach  of  all. 

I resolved  to  secure  one  personally,  so  I sped  away  into 
the  mountains  where,  in  less  than  the  time  it  takes  to  tell 
It,  I had  succeeded  in  finding  a holly  tree  and  losing  my- 
self. It  is  a very  solemn  sensation  to  feel  that  you  are  lost, 
and  that  before  you  can  be  found  something  is  liable  to 
happen  to  the  universe. 

I wandered  aimlessly  about  for  half  an  hour,  hoping  that 
I would  be  missed  in  society  and  some  one  sent  in  search  of 
me.  I was  just  about  to  give  up  in  despair  and  sink  down  on 
a bed  of  moss  with  the  idea  of  shuffling  off  six  or  seven  feet 
of  mortal  coil  when,  a few  rods  away,  I saw  a blue  smoke 
issuing  from  the  side  of  the  mountain  and  rising  toward  the 
sky.  I went  rapidly  towards  it  and  found  it  to  be  a plain 
dugout  with  a dirt  floor.  I entered  and  cast  myself  upon  a 
rude  nail  keg,  allowing  my  feet  to  remain  suspended  at  the 
lower  end  of  my  legs,  an  attitude  which  I frequently  affect 
when  fatigued. 

The  place  was  not  occupied  at  the  time  I entered, 
though  there  was  a fire  and  things  looked  as  though  the 


owner  had  not  been  long  absent.  It  seemed  to  be  a kind  ot 
laboratory,  for  I could  see  here  and  there  the  earmarks  of 
the  chemist.  I feared  at  first  that  it  was  a bomb  fac- 


'1S.RK'"  CW*.JT**S  K ,j>— JA-Dri^. 


tory,  but  as  I could  not  see  any  of  these  implements  in  a 
peiRcted  state  I decided  that  it  was  safe  and  waited  for 
the  owner  to  arrive. 


After  a time  I heard  a low  guttural  footstep  approaching 
up  the  hill.  I went  to  the  door  and  exclaimed  to  the  pro- 
prietor as  he  came,  “Merry  Christmas,  Colonel." 

“Merry  Christmas  be  d d!”  said  he  in  the  same 

bantering  tone.  “ What  in  three  dashes,  two  hyphens  and 
an  asthonisher  do  you  want  here,  you  double-dashed  and 
double-blanketed  blank  to  dash  and  return! ! ” 

The  wording  here  is  my  own,  but  it  gives  an  idea  of 
the  way  the  conversation  was  drifting.  You  can  see  by  his 
manner  that  literary  people  are  not  alone  in  being  surly, 
irritable  and  unreasonable. 

So  I humored  him  and  spoke  kindly  to  him  and  smoothed 
down  his  ruffled  plumage  with  my  gay  badinage,  for  he 
wore  a shawl  and  you  can  never  tell  whether  a man  wear- 
ing a shawl  is  armed  or  not.  I give  herewith  a view  of  this 
chemist  as  he  appeared  on  the  morning  I met  him. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  he  w;rs  a man  about  medium 
height  with  clear-cut  features  and  hair  and  retreating 
brisket.  His  hair  was  dark  and  hung  in  great  waves  which 
seemed  to  have  caught  the  sunlight  and  retained  it  together 
with  a great  many  other  atmospheric  phenomena.  He  wore 
a straw  hat,  such  as  I once  saw  Horace  Greeley  catch  grass- 
noppers  in,  on  the  banks  of  the  Kinnickinnick,  just  before 
he  caught  a small  trout. 

I spent  somz  vime  with  him  watching  him  as  he  made 
his  various  experiments.  Finally,  he  showed  me  a new 
beverage  that  he  had  been  engaged  in  perfecting.  It  was 
inclosed  in  a dark  brown  stone  receptacle  and  was  held  in 
place  by  a common  corn-cob  stopper.  I took  some  of  it  in 
order  to  show  that  I confided  in  him.  I do  not  remember 
anything  else  distinctly.  The  fumes  of  this  drink  went  at 
once  to  my  brain,  where  it  had  what  might  be  termed  a 
complete  walkover. 

I now  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  fluid  must 
have  been  alcoholic  in  its  nature*  for  when  I regained  my 


THE  CHEMIST  OF  THE  CAROLINES. 


H 


eonsciousnett  I was  extremely  elsewhere.  I found  myself 
on  a road  which  seemed  to  lead  in  two  opposite  directions 
and  my  mind  was  very  much  confused. 

I hardly  know  how  I got  home,  but  I finally  did  get 
there,  accompanied  by  a strong  leaning  towards  Prohibi- 
tion. A few  days  ago  I received  the  following  letter: 

Sir:  I at  first  thought  when  I saw  you  at  my  laboratory  the  other  day  that 
you  was  a low,  inquisitive  cuss  and  so  I spoke  to  yeu  in  harsh  tones  and 
reproached  you  and  upbraided  you  by  calling  you  everything  I could  lay  my 
tongue  to,  but  since  then  I have  concluded  that  you  didn’t  know  any  better. 

You  said  to  me  that  you  found  my  place  by  seeing  the  smoke  coming  out 
of  the  chimbley;  that  has  given  me  an  idea  that  you  might  know  something 
about  what’s  called  a smoke  consumer  of  which  I have  heard.  I am  doing  a 
fair  business,  but  I am  a good  deal  pestered,  as  you  might  say, by  people  who 
come  in  on  me  when  1 do  not  want  to  mingle  in  society.  A man  in  the 
chemist  business  cannot  succeed  if  he  is  all  the  time  interrupted  by  Tom, 
Dick  and  Harry  coming  in  on  him  when  he  isin  the  middle  of  an  experiment. 

I am  engaged  in  making  a remedy  for  which  there  is  a great  demand,  but 
its  manufacture  is  regarded  with  suspicion  by  United  States  officials  who 
want  to  be  considered  sealous.  Rather  than  bedrawn  into  any  difficulty  with 
these  people, I have  always  courted  retirement  and  avoided  the  busy  haunts 
of  men.  Still  some  strolling  idiot  or  other  will  occasionally  see  the  smoke 
from  my  little  home  and  drop  in  on  me. 

Could  you  find  out  about  this  smoke  consumer  and  see  what  the  price 
would  be  and  let  me  know  as  soon  as  possible? 

If  you  could  do  so  lean  be  of  great  service  to  you.  Leave  the  letter  under 
the  big  stone  where  you  found  yourself  the  other  day  when  you  came  out  of 
your  trance.  I call  it  a trance  because  this  letter  might  fall  into  the  hands 
of  your  family.  If  you  will  find  out  about  this  smoke  consumer  and  leave 
the  information  where  I have  told  you  you  will  find  on  the  following  day  a 
large  jug  of  mountain  dew  in  the  same  place  that  will  make  your  hair 
grow  and  give  a roseate  hue  to  your  otherwise  gloomy  life. 

Do  not  try  to  come  here  again.  It  might  compromise  me.  A man  in  your 
position  may  not  have  anything  to  risk,  but  with  me  it  is  different.  My  un- 
sullied reputation  is  all  I have  to  bequeath  to  my  children.  If  you  come  often 
there  will  not  be  enough  of  it  left  to  go  around,  as  I have  a large  family. 

If  you  hear  of  anybody  that  wants  to  trade  a good  double-barrel  shotgun 
for  a small  portable  worm  and  retort  that  is  too  small  for  my  business,  lean 
give  him  agood  trade  on  it  if  he  will  let  you  know.  This  is  a good  machine  for 
experimental  purposes,  and  being  no  larger  than  a Babcock  fire-extin- 
guisher it  can  be  readily  conveyed  to  a place  of  safety  at  a very  rapid  rate. 

You  might  say  to  your  friends  that  we  shall  try  in  the  future  as  we 
have  in  the  past  to  keep  np  the  standard  of  our  goods,  so  as  to  merit  a 
continued  patronage. 


Citizens  of  the  United  States,  or  those  who  have  declared  their  intention 
to  become  such,  will  always  be  welcome  at  our  works,  provided  they  are  not 
office-holders  in  any  capacity.  We  have  no  use  for  those  who  are  in  any  way 
connected  with  the  public  teat.  I.  B.  MOONSHINE. 

Dictated  letter. 

I hope  that  any  one  will  feel  perfectly  free  to  address 
me  in  relation  to  anything  referred  to  in  the  above  letter. 
All  communications  containing  remittances  will  be  regarded 
as  strictly  confidential. 


And  wistfully  gazed  on  the  sea 
Where  the  Gryxabodill  madly  whistled  a tune 
To  the  air  of  “ Ti-fol-de-ding-dee.” 

The  quavering  shriek  of  the  Fliupthecreek 
Was  fitfully  wafted  afar 

To  theQu^en  of  the  Wunksas  she  powdered  her  cheek 
With  the  pulverized  rays  of  a star. 

The  Gool  closed  his  ear  on  the  voice  of  the  Grig, 

And  his  heart  it  grew  heavy  as  lead 
As  he  marked  the  Baldekin  adjusting  his  wig 
On  the  opposite  side  of  his  head ; 

And  the  air  it  grew  chill  as  the  Gryxabodill 
Raised  his  dank,  dripping  fins  to  the  skies, 

To  plead  with  the  Plunk  for  the  use  of  her  bill 
To  pick  the  tears  out  of  his  eyes. 

The  ghost  of  the  Zhuck  flitted  by  in  a trance; 

And  the  Squidjum  hid  under  a tub 
As  he  heard  the  loud  hooves  of  the  Hooken  advance 
With  a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub  dub  ! 

And  the  Crankadox  cried  as  he  laid  down  and  died, 

“ My  fate  there  is  none  to  bewail!” 

While  the  Queen  of  the  Wunks  drifted  over  the  tide 
With  a long  piece  of  crape  to  her  tail. 


Prying  Opetj  tl|e  Fatarg, 

“Ring  the  bell  and  the  door  will  open,”  is  the  remark 
made  by  a small  label  over  a bell-handle  in  Third  avenue, 
near  Eighteenth  street,  where  Mme.  La  Foy  reads  the  past, 
present  and  future  at  so  much  per  read.  Love,  marriage, 
divorce,  illness,  speculation  and  sickness  are  there  handled 
with  the  utmost  impunity  by  “Mme.  La  Foy,  the  famous 


scientific  astrologist,”  who  has  monkeyed  with  the  planets 
for  twenty  years,  and  if  she  wanted  any  information  has 
“read  it  in  the  stars.” 

I rang  the  bell  the  other  day  to  see  if  the  door  would 
open.  It  did  so  after  considerable  delay,  and  a pimply  boy 
in  knee  pants  showed  me  upstairs  into  the  waiting-room. 
After  a while  I was  removed  to  the  consultation-room,  where 


PRYING  OPEN  THE  FUTURE. 


69 


Mme.  La  Foy,  seated  behind  a small  oil-cloth  covered  table, 
rakes  up  old  personalities  and  pries  into  the  future  at  cut 
rates. 

Skirmishing  about  among  the  planets  for  twenty  years 
involves  a great  deal  of  fatigue  and  exposure,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  night  work,  and  so  Mme.  La  Foy  has  the  air  of  one 
who  has  put  in  a very  busy  life.  She  is  as  familiar  with 
planets  though  as  you  or  I might  be  with  our  own  family, 
and  calls  them  by  their  first  names.  Sh  ' would  know  Jupi- 
ter, Venus,  Saturn,  Adonis  or  any  of  the  other  fixed  stars 
the  darkest  night  that  ever  blew. 

“Mme.  La  Foy  De  Graw,”  said  I,  bowing  with  the  easy 
grace  of  a gentleman  of  the  old  school,  “would  you  mind 
peering  into  the  future  for  me  about  a half  dollar’s  worth, 
not  necessarily  for  publication,  et  cetera.” 

“Certainly  not.  What  would  you  like  to  know?” 

“Why,  I want  to  know  all  I can  for  the  money,”  I said 
in  a bantering  tone.  “Of  course  I do  not  wish  to  know  what 
I already  know.  It  is  what  I do  not  now  know  that  I desire 
to  know.  Tell  me  what  I do  not  know,  Madame.  I will 
detain  you  but  a moment.” 

She  gave  me  back  my  large,  round  half  dollar  and  told  me 
that  she  was  already  weary.  She  asked  me  to  excuse  her. 
She  was  willing  to  unveil  the  future  to  me  in  her  poor,  weak 
way,  but  she  could  not  guarantee  to  let  a large  flood  of  light 
into  the  darkened  basement  of  a benighted  mind  for  half  a 
dollar. 

“ You  can  tell  me  what  year  and  on  what  day  of  what 
month  you  were  born,”  said  Mme.  La  Foy,  “ and  I will 
outline  your  life  to  you.  I generally  require  a lock  of  the 
hair,  but  in  your  case  we  will  dispense  with  it.” 

I told  her  when  I was  born  and  the  circumstances  as 
well  as  I could  recall  them. 

“This  brings  you  under  Venus,  Mercury  and  Mars. 
These  three  planets  were  in  conjunction  at  the  time  of  your 


70 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


birth.  You  were  born  when  the  sign  was  wrong  and  you 
have  had  more  or  less  trouble  ever  since.  Had  you  been 
born  when  the  sign  was  in  the  head  or  the  heart,  instead 
of  the  feet,  you  would  not  have  spread  out  over  the  ground 
so  much. 

“Your  health  is  very  good,  as  is  the  health  of  those 
generally  who  are  born  under  the  same  auspices  that  you 
were.  People  who  are  born  under  the  reign  of  the  crab  are 
apt  to  be  cancerous.  You,  however,  have  great  lung  power 
and  wonderful  gastric  possibilities.  Yet,  at  times,  you  would 
be  easily  upset.  A strong  cyclone  that  would  unroof  a court- 
house or  tip  over  a through  train  would  also  upset  you,  in 
spite  of  your  broad,  firm  feet  if  the  wind  got  behind  one  of 
your  ears. 

“ You  will  be  married  early  and  you  will  be  very  happy, 
though  your  wife  will  not  enjoy  herself  very  much.  Your 
wife  will  be  much  happier  during  her  second  marriage. 

“ You  will  prosper  better  in  business  matters  without 
forming  any  partnerships.  Do  not  go  into  partnership  with 
a small,  dark  man  who  has  neuralgia  and  a fine  yacht.  He 
has  abundant  means,  but  he  will  go  through  you  like  an 
electric  shock. 

“Tuesdays  and  Saturdays  will  be  your  most  fortunate 
days  on  which  to  borrow  money  of  men  with  light  hair. 
Mondays  and  Thursdays  will  be  your  best  days  for  approach- 
ing dark  men. 

“ Look  out  for  a low-sot  man  accompanied  by  an  office 
cat,  both  of  whom  are  engaged  in  the  newspaper  business. 
He  is  crafty  and  bald-headed  on  his  father’s  side.  He 
prints  the  only  paper  that  contains  the  full  text  of  his 
speeches  at  testimonials  and  dinners  given  to  other  people. 
Do  not  loan  him  money  on  any  account. 

“ You  would  succeed  well  as  a musician  or  an  inventor 
but  you  would  not  do  well  as  a poet.  You  have  all  the  keen 


PRYING  OPEN  THE  FUTURE. 


7» 

sensibility  and  strong  passion  of  a poet,  but  you  haven’t  the 
hair.  Do  not  try  poesy. 

“ In  the  future  I see  you  very  prosperous.  You  are  on 
the  lecture  platform  speaking.  Large  crowds  of  people  are 
jostling  each  other  at  the  box-office  and  trying  to  get  their 
money  back. 

“ Then  I see  you  riding  behind  a flexible  horse  that  must 
have  cost  a large  sum  of  money.  You  are  smoking  a cigar 
that  has  never  been  in  use  before.  Then  Venus  bisects  the 
orbit  of  Mars  and  I see  you  going  home  with  your  head  tied 
up  in  the  lap  robe,  you  and  your  spirited  horse  in  the  same 
ambulance.” 

“But  do  you  see  anything  for  me  in  the  future,  Mme. 
La  Foy?”  I asked,  taking  my  feet  off  the  table,  the  better  to 
watch  her  features;  “'anything  that  would  seem  to  indicate 
political  preferment,  a reward  for  past  services  to  my  coun- 
try, as  it  were?” 

“No,  not  clearly.  But  wait  a moment.  Your  horoscope 
begins  to  get  a little  more  intelligent.  I see  you  at  the  door 
of  the  Senate  Chamber.  You  are  counting  over  your  money 
and  looking  sadly  at  a schedule  of  prices.  Then  you  turn 
sorrowfully  away  and  decide  to  buy  a seat  in  the  House 
instead.  Many  years  after  I see  you  in  the  Senate.  You 
are  there  day  after  day  attending  to  your  duties.  You  are 
there  early,  before  any  one  else,  and  I see  you  pacing  back 
and  forth,  up  and  down  the  aisles,  sweeping  out  the  Senate 
Chamber  and  dusting  off  the  seats  and  rejuvenating  the 
cuspidors.” 

“Does  this  horoscope  which  you  are  using  this  season 
give  you  any  idea  as  to  whether  money  matters  will  be  scarce 
with  me  next  week  or  otherwise,  and  if  so  what  I had  better 
do  about  it?” 

“Towards  the  last  of  the  week  you  will  experience  con- 
siderable monetary  prostration,  but  just  as  you  have  become 
despondent,  at  the  very  tail  end  of  the  week,  the  horizon 


72  NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GU1DL. 

will  clear  up  and  a slight,  dark  gentleman,  with  wide  trou. 
sers,  who  is  a total  stranger  to  you,  will  loan  you  quite  a 
sum  of  money,  with  the  understanding  that  it  is  to  be  repaid 
on  Monday.” 

“Then  you  would  not  advise  me  to  go  to  Coney  Island 
until  the  week  after  next?” 

“Certainly  not.” 

“Would  it  be  etiquette  in  dancing  a quadrille  to  swing  a 
young  person  of  the  opposite  sex  twice  round  at  a select 
party  when  you  are  but  slightly  acquainted,  but  feel  quite 
confident  that  her  partner  is  unarmed?” 

“Yes.” 

“Does  your  horoscope  tell  a person  what  to  do  with 
raspberry  jelly  that  will  not  jell?” 

“No,  not  at  the  present  prices.” 

“So  you  predict  an  early  marriage,  with  threatening 
weather  and  strong  prevailing  easterly  winds  along  the  Gulf 
States?” 

“Yes,  sir.” 

“And  is  there  no  way  that  \sds  early  marriage  may  be 
evaded?” 

“No,  not  unless  you  put  it  off  till  later  in  life.” 

“Thank  you,”  I said,  rising  and  looking  out  the  window 
over  a broad  sweep  of  undulating  alley  and  wind-swept 
roofing,  “and  now,  how  much  are  you  out  on  this?” 

“Sir!” 

“What’s  the  damage?” 

“Oh,  one  dollar.” 

“But  don’t  you  advertise  to  read  the  past,  present  and 
future  for  fifty  cents?” 

“Well,  that  is  where  a person  has  had  other  information 
before  in  his  life  and  has  some  knowledge  to  begin  with; 
but  where  X fill  up  a vacant  mind  entirely  and  store  it  with 
facts  of  all  kinds  and  stock  it  up  so  that  it  can  do  business 


PRYING  OPEN  THE  FUTURE. 


93 


for  itself,  I charge  a dollar.  I cannot  thoroughly  refit  and 
refurnish  a mental  tenement  from  the  ground  up  for  fifty 
cents.” 

I do  not  think  we  have  as  good  “ Astrologists”  now  as 
we  used  to  have.  Astrologists  cannot  crawl  under  the  tent 
and  pry  into  the  future  as  they  could  three  or  four  thou- 
sand years  ago. 


I like  me  yet  dot  leedle  chile 

Vich  climb  my  lap  up  in  to- 
day, 

Unt  took  my  cheap  cigair 
avay, 

Unt  laugh  and  kiss  me  purty- 
whvile, — 

Possescially  I like  dose  mout* 
Vich  taste  his  moder’s  like 
— unt  so, 

Off  my  cigair  it  gone  glean  out 
— Yust  let  it  go! 

Vat  I caire  den  for  anyding? 

Der  paper  schlip  out  fon  my 
hand. 


Mr.  SILBERBERG. 


75 


And  all  my  odvairtizement  stand, 

Mitout  new  changements  boddering; 

I only  dink — I have  me  dis 
Von  leedle  boy  to  pet  unt  love 
Unt  play  me  vit,  unt  hug  unt  kiss — • 

Unt  dot’s  enough! 

Der  plans  unt  pairposes  I vear 
Out  in  der  vorld  all  fades  avay ; 

Unt  vit  der  beeznid  of  der  day 
I got  me  den  no  time  to  spare ; 

Der  caires  of  trade  vas  caires  no  more— 
Dem  cash  accounds  dey  dodge  me  by, 
Unt  vit  my  chile  I roll  der  floor, 

Unt  laugh  unt  gry  ! 

Ah ! frient ! dem  childens  is  der  ones 
Dot  got  some  happy  times — you  bet ! — - 
Dot’s  vy  ven  I been  growed  up  yet 
I vish  I vould  been  leedle  vonce ! 

Unt  ven  dot  leetle  roozter  tries 
Dem  baby-tricks  I used  to  do, 

My  mout  it  vater,  unt  my  eyes 
Dey  vater  too ! 

Unt  all  der  summertime  unt  spring 
Of  childhood  it  come  back  to  me, 

So  dot  it  vas  a dream  I see 
Ven  I yust  look  at  any  ding, 

Unt  ven  dot  leedle  boy  run  by, 

I dink  “dot’s  me,”  fon  hour  to  hour 
Schtill  chasing  yet  dose  butterfly 
Fon  flower  to  flower! 

Oxpose  I vas  lots  money  vairt, 

Mit  blenty  schtone-front  schtore  to  rent, 
Unt  mor ’gages  at  twelf  per-cent, 


7fi  NYE  AND  A LEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE l 

Unt  diamond?  in  my  ruffled  shairt,— 
l make  assignment  of  all  dot, 

Unt  tairn  it  over  mit  a schmile, 
Obber  you  please — but  don’d  forgot, 

1 keep  dot  chile ! 


Spirits  at  IJorrfg. 

(THE  FAMILY.) 

There  was  Father,  and  Mother,  and  Emmy,  and  Jane* 
And  Lou,  and  Ellen,  and  John  and  me  — 

And  father  was  killed  in  the  war,  and  Lou 
She  died  of  consumption,  and  John  did  too, 

And  Emmy  she  went  with  the  pleurisy. 

(THE  SPIRITS.) 

Father  believed  in  ’em  all  his  life  — 

But  Mother,  at  first,  she’d  shake  her  head  — 

Till  after  the  battle  of  Champion  Hill, 

When  many  a flag  in  the  winder-sill 

Had  crape  mixed  in  with  the  white  and  red! 

I used  to  doubt  ’em  myself  till  then  — 

But  me  and  Mother  was  satisfied 
When  Ellen  she  set,  and  Father  came 
And  rapped  “ God  bless  you ! ” and  Mother’s  name, 
And  “The  flag’s  up  here!  ” And  we  just  all  cried! 

Used  to  come  often  after  that, 

And  talk  to  us — just  as  he  used  to  do, 

Pleasantest  kind ! And  once,  for  John, 

He  said  he  was  “lonesome  but  wouldn’t  let  on  — 
Fear  mother  would  worry,  and  Emmy  and  Lou.* 

But  Lou  was  the  bravest  girl  on  earth  — 

For  all  she  never  was  hale  and  strong 
She’d  have  her  fun ! With  her  voice  clean  lost 
She’d  laugh  and  joke  us  that  when  she  crossed 
To  father,  we’d  all  come  taggin’  along; 


Dieu — just  that  way ! And  the  raps  was  thick 
That  night,  as  they  often  since  occur, 

Extry  loud.  And  when  Lou  got  back 
She  said  it  was  Father  and  her  — and  “ whack!  * 
She  tuck  the  table  — and  we  knowed  her  / 

John  and  Emmy,  in  five  years  more, 

Both  had  went.  — And  it'  seemed  like  fate ! — > 
For  the  old  home  it  burnt  down,— -but  Jane 
And  me  and  Ellen  we  built  again 

The  new  house,  here,  on  the  old  estate. 

And  a happier  family  I don’t  know 
Of  anywheres  — unless  its  them  — 

Father,  with  all  his  love  for  Lou, 

And  her  there  with  him,  and  healthy,  too, 

And  laughin’,  with  John  and  little  Em. 

And,  first  we  moved  in  the  new  house  here, 

They  all  dropped  in  for  a long  pow-wow. 

“We  like  your  buildin’,  of  course,”  Lou  said, — 
“But  wouldn’t  swop  with  you  to  save  your  head  — 
For  we  live  in  the  ghost  of  the  old  house,  now! 


In  an  interview  which  I have 
just  had  with  myself,  I have  pos- 
itively stated,  and  now  repeat, 
that  at  neither  the  St.  Louis  nor 
Chicago  Convention  will  my 
name  be  presented  as  a candi- 
date. 

But  my  health  is  bully. 

We  are  upon  the  threshold 
of  a most  bitter  and  acrimonious 
fight.  Great  wisdom  and  fore- 
sight are  needed  at  this  hour, 
and  the  true  patriot  will  forget 
himself  and  his  own  interests 
in  his  great  yearning  for  the 
good  of  his  common  country  and  the  success  of  his  party. 
What  we  need  at  this  time  is  a leader  whose  name  will  not 
be  presented  at  the  convention  but  whose  health  is  good. 

No  one  has  a fuller  or  better  conception  of  the  great 
duties  of  the  hour  than  I.  How  clearly  to  my  mind  are  the 
duties  of  the  American  citizen  outlined  today!  I have 
never  seen  with  clearer,  keener  vision  the  great  needs  of 


80  NTE  ARu  txii.Li'*  R^L  WAT  GUIDE, 

my  country,  and  my  pores  have  never  been  more  open. 
Four  years  ago  I was  in  some  doubt  relative  to  certain 
important  questions  which  now  are  clearly  and  satisfactorily 
settled  in  my  mind.  I hesitated  then  where  now  I am  fully 
established,  and  my  tongue  was  coated  in  the  morning  when 
I arose,  whereas  now  I bound  lightly  from  bed,  kick  out  i 
window,  climb  to  the  roof  by  means  of  the  fire-escape  anc 
there  rehearse  speeches  which  I will  make  this  fall  in  case 
it  should  be  discovered  at  either  of  the  conventions  that  my 
name  alone  can  heal  the  rupture  in  the  party  and  prevent 
its  works  from  falling  out. 

I think  my  voice  is  better  also  than  it  was  either  four, 
eight,  twelve  or  sixteen  years  ago,  and  it  does  not  tire  me  so 
much  to  think  of  things  to  say  from  the  tail-gate  of  a train 
as  it  did  when  I first  began  to  refrain  from  presenting  my 
name  to  conventions. 

According  to  my  notion,  our  candidate  should  be  a plain 
man,  a magnetic  but  hairless  patriot,  who  should  be  sud- 
denly thought  of  by  a majority  of  the  convention  and 
nominated  by  acclamation.  He  should  not  be  a hide  bound 
politician,  but  on  the  contrary  he  should  be  greatly  startled, 
while  down  cellar  sprouting  potatoes,  to  learn  that  he  has 
been  nominated.  That’s  the  kind  of  man  who  always  sur- 
prises everybody  with  his  sagacity  when  an  emergency 
arises. 

In  going  down  my  cellar  stairs  the  committee  will  do 
well  to  avoid  stepping  on  a large  and  venomous  dog  who 
sleeps  on  the  top  stair.  Or  I will  tie  him  in  the  barn  if  J 
ran  be  informed  when  I am  liable  to  be  startled. 

I have  always  thought  that  the  neatest  method  of  calling 
a man  to  public  life  was  the  one  adopted  some  years  since 
in  the  case  of  Cincinnatus.  He  was  one  day  breaking  a 
pair  of  nervous  red  steers  in  the  north  field.  It  was  a hot 
lay  in  July,  and  he  was  trying  to  summer  fallow  a piece 
€ ground  where  the  jimson  weeds  grew  seven  feet  high. 


The  plough  would  not  scour,  and  the  steers  had  turned  the 
yoke  twice  on  him.  Cincinnatus  had  hung  his  toga  on  a 
tamarac  pole  to  strike  a furrow  by,  and  hadn’t  succeeded  in 
getting  the  plough  in  more  than  twice  in  going  across. 
Dressing  as  he  did  in  the  Roman  costume  of  458  B.  C.,  the 
blackberry  vines  had  scratched  his  massive  legs  till  they 
were  a sight  to  behold.  He  had  scourged  Old  Bright  and 
twisted  the  tail  of  Bolly  till  he  was  sick  at  heart.  All 
through  the  long  afternoon,  wearing  a hot,  rusty  helmet 
with  rabbit-skin  ear  tabs  he  had  toiled  on,  when  suddenly 
a majority  of  the  Roman  voters  climbed  over  the  fence  a»-d 
asked  him  to  become  dictator  in  place  of  Spurius  Melius. 


Putting  on  his  toga  and  buckling  an  old  hame  strap 
around  his  loins  he  said:  ‘‘Gentlemen,  if  you  will  wait  till 
I go  to  the  house  and  get  some  vaseline  on  my  limbs  I will 
do  your  dictating  for  you  as  low  as  you  have  ever  had  it 
done.”  He  then  left  his  team  standing  in  the  furrow  while 
he  served  his  country  in  an  official  capacity  for  a little  over 
twenty-nine  years,  after  which  he  went  back  and  resumed 
his  farming. 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE, 


<& 

Though  2,300  years  have  since  passed  away  and  histor- 
ians have  been  busy  with  that  epoch  ever  since,  no  one  has 
yet  discovered  the  methods  by  which  Cincinnatus  organized 
and  executed  this,  the  most  successful  “ People’s  Move- 
ment ” of  which  we  are  informed. 


The  great  trouble  with  the  modern  boom  is  that  it  is  too 
precocious.  It  knows  more  before  it  gets  its  clothes  on 
than  the  nurse,  the  physician  and  its  parents.  It  then 
dies  before  the  sap  starts  in  the  maple  forests. 


My  object  in  writing  this  letter  is  largely  to  tone  down 
and  keep  in  check  any  popular  movement  in  my  behali 
until  the  weather  is  more  settled.  A season-cracked  boom 
is  a thing  I despise. 

I inclose  my  picture,  however,  which  shows  that  I am 
so  healthy  that  it  keeps  me  awake  nights.  I go  about  the 
house  singing  all  the  time  and  playing  pranks  on  my  grand- 
parents. My  eye  dances  with  ill-concealed  merriment,  and 
my  conversation  is  just  as  sparkling  as  it  can  be. 

I believe  that  during  this  campaign  we  should  lay  aside 
politics  so  far  as  possible  and  unite  on  an  unknown,  homely, 
but  sparkling  man.  Let  us  lay  aside  all  race  prejudices 
and  old  party  feeling  and  elect  a magnetic  chump  who  does 
not  look  so  very  well,  but  who  feels  first  rate. 

Towards  the  middle  of  June  I shall  go  away  to  an  ob- 
scure place  where  I cannot  be  reached.  My  mail  will  be 
forwarded  to  me  by  a gentleman  who  knows  how  I feel  in 
relation  to  the  wants  and  needs  of  the  country. 

To  those  who  have  prospered  during  the  past  twenty 
years  let  me  say  they  owe  it  to  the  perpetuation  of  the 
principles  and  institutions  towards  the  establishment  and 
maintenance  of  which  I have  given  the  best  energies  of  my 
life.  To  those  who  have  been  unfortunate  let  me  say  frankly 
that  they  owe  it  to  themselves. 

I have  never  had  less  malaria  or  despondency  in  my 
system  than  I have  this  spring.  My  cheeks  have  a delicate 
bloom  on  them  like  a russet  apple,  and  my  step  is  light  and 
elastic.  In  the  morning  I arise  from  my  couch  and,  touch- 
ing a concealed  spring,  it  becomes  an  upright  piano.  I then 
bathe  in  a low  divan  which  contains  a jointed  tank.  I then 
sing  until  interfered  with  by  property  owners  and  tax-payers 
who  reside  near  by.  After  a light  breakfast  of  calf’s  liver  and 
custard  pie  I go  into  the  reception-room  and  wait  for  people 
to  come  and  feel  my  pulse.  In  the  afternoon  I lie  down  on 
a lounge  for  two  or  three  hours,  wondering  in  what  way  I 


B4  NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 

can  endear  myself  to  the  laboring  man.  I then  dine  heartily 
at  my  club.  In  the  evening  I go  to  see  the  amateurs  play 
Pygmalion  and  Galatea.”  As  I remain  till  the  play  is 
over,  any  one  can  see  that  I am  a very  robust  man.  After 
I get  home  I write  two  or  three  thousand  words  in  my  diary. 
I then  insert  myself  into  the  bosom  of  my  piano  and  sleep, 
having  first  removed  my  clothes  and  ironed  my  trousers  for 
future  reference. 

In  closing,  let  me  urge  one  and  all  to  renewed  effort. 
The  prospects  for  a speedy  and  unqualified  victory  at  the 
polls  were  never  more  roseate.  Let  us  select  a man  upon 
whom  we  can  all  unite,  a man  who  has  no  venom  in  him, 
a man  who  has  successfully  defied  and  trampled  on  the 
infamous  Interstate  Commerce  act,  a man  who,  though  in 
the  full  flush  and  pride  and  bloom  and  fluff  of  life’s  me- 
ridian, still  disdains  to  present  his  name  to  the  convention. 


Lilies. 

ON  HEARING  A CO  IV  BA  IVL , IN  A DEEP  FIT  OF  DEJECTION^  Oft 
THE  EVENING  OF  JULY  z,A.  D.  18— 


The  chickens  roosting  o’er  him  on  the  beam 

Uplift  their  drowsy  heads,  with  cootered  awe. 


86 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


The  “Gung-oigh”of  the  pump  is  strangely  stilled 
The  smoke-house  door  bangs  once  emphatic’ly, 
Then  bangs  no  more,  but  leaves  the  silence  filled 
With  one  lorn  plaint’s  despotic  minstrelsy. 


Yet  I would  join  thy  sorrowing  madrigal, 
Most  melancholy  cow,  and  sing  of  thee 
Full-hearted  through  my  tears,  for,  after  all 
Tis  very  kine  of  you  to  sing  for  me., 


iVje  ar|d  Ajary. 

A)'  mv  feelin’s,  in  the  spring, 

Gits  so  blame  contrary 
I can’t  think  of  anything 
Only  me  and  Mary! 

“Me  and  Mary!  ” all  the  time, 

“ Me  and  Mary!  ” like  a rhyme 
Keeps  a-dingin’  on  till  I’m 
Sick  o’  “Me  and  Mary ! ” 

“Me  and  Mary ! Ef  us  two 
Only  was  together — 

Playin’  like  we  used  to  do 
In  the  Aprile  weather!” 

All  the  night  and  all  the  day 
I keep  wishin’  thataway 
Till  I’m  gittin’  old  and  gray 
Jist  on  “Me  and  Maryi* 

Muddy  yit  along  the  pike 
Sense  the  winter’s  freezin’ 

And  the  orchard’s  backard-like 
Bloomin’  out  this  season  ; 

Only  heerd  one  bluebird  yit — 

Nary  robin  er  tomtit ; 

Whats  the  how  and  why  of  it  ? 
Spect  its  “ Me  and  Mary!” 


3b 


WYE  AND  RILEY'S  HAU  WA\  CV11  h 


Me  and  Mary  liked  the  birds — 
That  is,  Mary  sorto’ 

Liked  them  first,  and  afterwerds 
W’y  I thought  I orto. 

And  them  birds— ef  Mary  stood 
Right  here  with  me  as  she  should  — 
They’d  be  singin’,  them  birds  would 
All  fer  me  and  Mary  1 

Birds  er  not,  I’m  hop’in’  some 
I can  git  to  plowin’: 

Ef  the  sun’ll  only  come, 

And  the  Lord  allowin’, 

Guess  to-morry  I’ll  turn  in 
And  git  down  to  work  agin  : 

This  here  loaferin’  won’t  win; 

Not  fer  me  and  Mary  ! 

Fer  a man  that  loves,  like  me, 

And’s  afeard  to  name  it, 

Till  some  other  feller,  lie 
Gits  the  girl — dad-sname-it.' 

Wet  er  dry,  er  clouds  er  sun — 
Winter  gone,  er  jist  begun — 
Out-door  work  fer  me  er  none, 

No  more  “Me  and  Mary  V9 


NiaiaraPallsFroitf  theNyeSidg. 

On  Board  the  Bounding  Train,  ) 
Longitude  600  Miles  West  of  a Given  Point,  j 

I visited  Walton,  N.  Y.,  last  week,  a beautiful  town  in 
the  flank  of  the  Catskills,  at  the  head  of  the  Delaware.  It 
was  there  in  that  quiet  and  picturesque  valley  that  the 
great  philanthropist  and  ameliorator,  Jay  Gould,  first  at- 
tracted attention.  He  has  a number  of  relatives  there  who 
note  with  pleasure  the  fact  that  Mr.  Gould  is  not  frittering 
away  his  means  during  his  lifetime. 

In  the  office  of  Mr.  Nish,  of  Walton,  there  is  a map  of  the 
county  made  by  Jay  Gould  while  in  the  surveying  busi- 
ness, and  several  years  before  he  became  monarch  of  all  he 
surveyed. 

Mr.  Gould  also  laid  out  the  town  of  Walton.  Since 
that  he  has  laid  out  other  towns,  but  in  a different  way.  He 
also  plotted  other  towns.  Plotted  to  lay  them  out,  I mean. 

In  Franklin  there  is  an  old  wheelbarrow  which  Mr. 
Gould  used  on  his  early  surveying  trips.  In  this  he  carried 
his  surveying  instruments,  his  night  shirt  and  manicure 
set.  Connected  with  the  wheel  there  is  an  arrangement  by 
which,  at  night,  the  young  surveyor  could  tell  at  a glance, 
with  the  aid  of  a piece  of  red  chalk  and  a barn  door,  just  how 
far  he  had  traveled  during  the  day. 

This  instrument  was  no  doubt  the  father  of  the  pedom- 
eter and  the  cyclorama,  just  as  the  boy  is  frequently 
father  to  the  man.  It  was  also  no  doubt  the  avant  courier 
of  the  Dutch  clock  now  used  on  freight  cabooses,  which  not 
only  shows  how  far  the  car  has  traveled,  but  also  the  rate 


90 


NYE  AND  RILEY  S RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


of  speed  for  each  mile,  the  average  rainfall  and  whether  the 
conductor  has  eaten  onions  during  the  day. 

This  instrument  has  worked  quite  a change  in  railroad- 
ing since  my  time.  Years  ago  I can  remember  when  I used 
to  ride  in  a caboose  and  enjoy  myself,  and  before  good  for- 
tune had  made  me  the  target  of  the  alert  and  swift-flying 
whisk-broom  of  the  palace  car,  it  was  my  chief  joy  to  catch 
a freight  over  the  hill  from  Cheyenne,  on  the  Mountain 
division.  We  were  not  due  anywhere  until  the  following 
day,  and  so  at  the  top  of  the  mountain  we  would  cut  off  the 
caboose  and  let  the  train  go  on.  We  would  then  go  into 
the  glorious  hills  and  gather  sage-hens  and  cotton-tails.  In 
the  summer  we  would  put  in  the  afternoon  catching 
trout  in  Dale  Creek  or  gathering  maiden-hair  ferns  in  the 
bosky  dells.  Bosky  dells  were  more  plenty  there  at  that 
time  than  they  are  now. 

It  was  a delightful  sensation  to  know  that  we  could  loll 
about  in  the  glorious  weather,  secure  a small  string  of 
stark,  varnished  trout  with  chapped  backs,  hanging  aim- 
lessly by  one  gill  to  a gory,  willow  stringer  and  then  beat 
our  train  home  by  two  hours  by  letting  off  the  brakes  and 
riding  twenty  miles  in  fifteen  minutes. 

But  Mr.  Gould  saw  that  we  were  enjoying  ourselves,  and 
so  he  sat  up  nights  to  oppress  us.  The  result  is  that  the 
freight  conductor  has  very  little  more  fun  now  than  Mr. 
Gould  himself.  All  the  enjoyment  that  the  conductor  of 
“ Second  Seven  ” has  now  is  to  pull  up  his  train  where  it 
will  keep  the  passengers  of  No.  5 going  west  from  getting  a 
view  of  the  town.  He  can  also,  if  he  be  on  a night  run,  get 
under  the  window  of  a sleeping-car  at  about  1:35  A.  m.,  and 
make  a few  desultory  remarks  about  the  delinquency  of 
“ Third  Six  ” and  the  lassitude  of  Skinny  Bates  who  is  sup- 
posed to  brake  ahead  on  No.  1 1 going  west.  That  is  all  the 
fun  he  has  now. 

I saw  Niagara  Falls  on  Thursday  for  the  first  time.  The 


sight  is  one  long  to  be  remembered.  I did  not  go  to  the 
falls,  but  viewed  them  from  the  car  window  in  all  their 
might,  majesty,  power  and  dominion  forever.  N.  B. — Do- 
minion of  Canada. 

Niagara  Falls  plunges  from  a huge  elevation  by  reason 
of  its  inability  to  remain  on  the  sharp  edge  of  a precipice 
several  feet  higher  than  the  point  to  which  the  falls  are 
now  falling.  This  causes  a noise  to  make  its  appearance, 
and  a thick  mist,  composed  of  minute  particles  of  wetness, 
rises  to  its  full  height  and  comes  down  again  afterwards. 
Words  are  inadequate  to  show  here,  even  with  the  aid  of  a 
large,  powerful  new  press,  the  grandeur,  what  you  may  call 
the  vertigo,  of  Niagara.  Everybody  from  all  over  the  world 
goes  to  see  and  listen  to  the  remarks  of  this  great  fall. 
How  convenient  and  pleasant  it  is  to  be  a cataract  like  that 
and  have  people  come  in  great  crowds  to  see  and  hear  you! 
How  much  better  that  is  than  to  be  a lecturer,  for  instance, 

and  have  to  follow  peo- 
ple to  their  homes  in 
order  to  attract  their  at- 
tention ! 

Many  people  in  the 
United  States  and  Can- 
ada who  were  once  as 
pure  as  the  beautiful 
snow,  have  fallen,  but 
they  did  not  attract  the 
attention  that  the  fall 
of  Niagara  does. 

For  the  benefit  of 
those  who  may  never 
have  been  able  to  witness 
Niagara  Falls  in  winter, 
I give  here  a rough 
sketch  of  the  magnificent  spectacle  as  I saw  it  from  the 


92 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


American  side.  From  the  Canadian  side  the  aspect  of  the 
falls  is  different,  and  the  names  on  the  cars  are  not  the  same, 
but  the  effect  on  one  of  a sensitive  nature  is  one  of  intense 
awe.  I know  that  I cannot  put  so  much  of  this  awe  into 
a hurried  sketch  as  I would  like  to.  In  a crude  drawing, 
made  while  the  train  was  in  motion,  and  at  a time  when  the 
customs  officer  was  showing  the  other  passengers  what  I had 


in  my  valise,  of  course  I could  not  make  a picture  with 
much  sublimity  in  it,  but  I tried  to  make  it  as  true  to 
nature  as  I could. 


NIAGARA  FALLS  FROM  THR  ft  YE  SIDE, 


m 


The  officer  said  that  I had  nothing  in  my  luggage  that 
was  liable  to  duty,  but  stated  that  I would  need  heavier 
underwear  in  Canada  than  the  samples  I had  with  me. 

Toronto  is  a stirring  city  of  150,000  people,  who  are 
justly  proud  of  her  great  prosperity.  I only  regretted  that 
I could  not  stay  there  a long  time. 

I met  a man  in  Cleveland,  O.,  whose  name  was  Mac- 
donald. He  was  at  the  Weddell  House,  and  talked  freely 
with  me  about  our  country,  asking  me  a great  many  ques- 
tions about  myself  and  where  I lived  and  how  I was  pros- 
pering. While  we  were  talking  at  one  time  he  saw 
something  in  the  paper  which  interested  him  and  called 
him  away.  After  he  had  gone  I noticed  the  paragraph  he 
had  been  reading,  and  saw  that  it  spoke  of  a man  named 
Macdonald  who  had  recently  arrived  in  town  from  New 
York,  and  who  was  introducing  a new  line  of  green  goods. 

I have  often  wondered  what  there  is  about  my  general 
appearance  which  seems  to  draw  about  me  a cluster  of 
green-goods  men  wherever  I go.  Is  it  the  odor  of  new- 
mown  hay,  or  the  frank,  open  way  in  which  I seem  to 
measure  the  height  of  the  loftiest  buildings  with  my  eye  as  I 
penetrate  the  busy  haunts  of  men  and  throng  the  crowded 
marts  of  trade  ? Or  do  strangers  suspect  me  of  being  a 
man  of  means  ? 

In  Cleveland  I was  rather  indisposed,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  I had  been  sitting  up  until  2 or  3 o'clock  a.  m.  for  sev- 
eral nights  in  order  to  miss  early  trains.  I went  to  a physi- 
cian, who  said  I was  suffering  from  some  new  and 
attractive  disease,  which  he  could  cope  with  in  a day  or 
two.  I told  him  to  cope.  He  prescribed  a large  42-calibre 
capsule  which  he  said  contained  medical  properties.  It 
might  have  contained  theatrical  properties  and  still  had 
von  left  for  a baby  grand  piano.  I do  not  know  why  the 
capsule  should  be  so  popular.  I would  rather  swallow  a 
porcelain  egg  or  a live  turtle.  Doctors  claim  that  it  is  to 


94 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUI  DU 


prevent  the  bad  taste  of  the  medicines,  but  I have  neve* 
yet  participated  in  any  medicine  which  was  more  disagreea- 
ble than  the  gluey  shell  of  an  adult  capsule,  which  looks 
like  an  overgrown  bott  and  tastes  like  a rancid  nightmare. 

I doubt  the  good  taste  of  any  one  who  will  turn  up  his 
nose  at  castor-oil  or  quinine  and  yet  meekly  swallow  a 
chrysalis  with  varnish  on  the  outside. 

Everywhere  I go  I find  people  who  seem  pleased  with 
the  manner  in  which  I have  succeeded  in  resembling  the 
graphic  pictures  made  to  represent  me  in  The  World.  I 
can  truly  say  that  I am  not  a vain  man,  but  it  is  certainly 
pleasing  and  gratifying  to  be  greeted  by  a glance  of  recog- 
nition and  a yell  of  genuine  delight  from  total  strangers. 
Many  have  seemed  to  suppose  that  the  massive  and  un- 
draped head  shown  in  these  pictures  was  the  result  of 
artistic  license  or  indolence  and  a general  desire  to  evade 
the  task  of  making  hair.  For  such  people  the  thrill  of  joy 
they  feel  when  they  discover  that  they  have  not  been  de- 
ceived is  marked  and  genuine. 

These  pictures  also  stimulate  the  press  of  the  country 
to  try  it  themselves  and  to  add  other  horrors  which  do  not 
in  any  way  interfere  with  the  likeness,  but  at  the  same  time 
encourage*'  me  to  travel  mostly  by  night. 


“Chrly  Log^s!” 


“ Curly  Locks  / Curly  Locks  / wilt  thou  be  mine  ? 

Thou  shali  not  wash  the  dishes , nor  yet  feed  the  swine , 
But  sit  on  a cushion  and  sew  a fine  seamy 
And  feast  upon  strawberries , sugar  and  cream” 

Curly  Locks  ! Curly  Locks ! wilt  thou  be  mine  ? 
The  throb  of  my  heart  is  in  every  line, 

And  the  pulse  of  a passion,  as  airy  and  glad 
In  its  musical  beat  as  the  little  Prince  had! 


NYE  AND  R DEV'S  RULWaV  GUIDE* 


96 

Thou  shalt  not  wash  th/-  dishes,  nor  yet  feed  the  swine!— 
O,  I’ll  dapple  thy  hands  with  these  kisses  of  mine 
Till  the  pink  of  the  nail  of  each  finger  shall  be 
As  a little  pet  blush  in  full  blossom  for  me. 

But  sit  on  a cushion  and  sew  a fine  seam, 

And  thou  shalt  have  fabric  as  fair  as  a dream, — 

The  red  of  my  veins,  and  the  white  of  my  love, 

And  the  gold  of  my  joy  for  the  braiding  thereof. 

And  feast  upon  strawberries,  sugar  and  cream 
From  a service  of  silver,  with  jewels  agleam, — 

At  thy  feet  will  I bide,  at  thy  beck  will  I rise, 

And  twinkle  my  soul  in  the  night  of  thine  eyes! 

“ Curly  Locks  ! Curly  Locks  / wilt  tkou  be  mine *? 

Thou  shalt  not  wash  the  dishes , nor  yet  feed  the  swine . 
But  sit  on  a cushion  and  sew  a fine  seam , 

And  feast  upon  strawberries , sugar  and  crcamT 


Lines  on  Tnrnini  Over  a Pass. 


OME  news- 
paper men 
claim  that 
they  feel  a 
great  deal 
freer  if  they 
pay  their 
fare. 

That  is 
true,  no 
doubt ; but 
too  much 
freedom 
does  not 
agree  with 
me.  It  makes 

me  lawless.  I sometimes  think  that  a little  wholesome 
restriction  is  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  me.  That  is  the 
reason  I never  murmur  at  the  conditions  on  the  back  of  an 
annual  pass.  Of  course  they  restrict  me  from  bringing  suit 
against  the  road  in  case  of  death,  but  I don’t  mind  that. 
In  case  of  my  death  it  is  my  intention  to  lay  aside  the  cares 
and  details  of  business  and  try  to  secure  a change  of  scene 
and  complete  rest.  People  who  think  that  after  my  demise 
I shall  have  nothing  better  to  do  than  hang  around  the 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


08 

musty,  tobacco- spattered  corridors  of  a court-room  and 
wait  for  a verdict  of  damages  against  a courteous  railroad 
company  do  not  thoroughly  understand  my  true  nature. 

But  the  interstate-commerce  bill  does  not  shut  out  the 
employe!  Acting  upon  this  slight  suggestion  of  hope,  I 
wrote,  a short  time  ago,  to  Mr.  St.  John,  the  genial  and 
whole-souled  general  passenger  agent  of  the  Chicago,  Rock 
Island  & Pacific  Railroad,  as  follows : 

Asheville,  N.  C.,  Feb.  10, 1887. 
E.  St.  John,  G.  P.  A.,  C.,  R.  I.  & P.  R’y.^Chicago  : 

Dear  Sir — Do  you  not  desire  an  employe  on  your  char  ming  road?  I do 
not  know  what  it  is  to  be  an  employe,  for  I was  never  in  that  condition,  but  I 
pant  to  be  one  now. 

Of  course  I am  ignorant  of  the  duties  of  an  employe,  but  I have  always 
been  a warm  friend  of  your  road  and  rejoiced  in  its  success.  How  are  your 
folks?  Yours  truly.  Col.  Bill  Nye. 

Day  before  yesterday  I received  the  following  note  from 
General  St.  John,  printed  on  a purple  type-writer: 

Chicago,  Feb.  13, 1887. 

Col.  Bill  Nye,  Asheville,  N.  C.: 

Sir — My  folks  are  quite  well.  Yours  truly,  E.  ST.  JOHN. 

I also  wrote  to  Gen.  A.  V.  H.  Carpenter,  of  the  Mil- 
waukee road,  at  the  same  time,  for  we  had  corresponded 
^me  back  and  forth  in  the  happy  past.  I wrote  in  about 
the  following  terms : 

Asheville,  N.  C.,  Feb.  10, 1887. 

A.  V.  H.  Carpenter,  G.  P.  A.  C.,  M.  & St.  P.  R'y,  Milwaukee,  Wis.: 

Dear  Sir — How  are  you  fixed  for  employes  this  spring? 

I feel  like  doing  something  of  that  kind  and  could  give  you  some  good 
endorsements  from  prominent  people  both  at  home  and  abroad. 

What  does  an  employe  have  to  do? 

If  I can  help  your  justly  celebrated  road  any  here  in  the  South  do  no! 
hesitate  about  mentioning  it. 

I am  still  quite  lame  in  my  left  leg,  which  was  broken  in  the  cyclone,  and 
cannot  walk  without  great  pain.  Yours  with  kindest  regards. 

Bill  Nye. 

I have  just  received  the  following  reply  from  Mr.  Car- 
penter: 


MBLWArXEK,  Wis.  Feb.  14, 18 87. 


Bill  Nye,  Esq.,  Asheville,  N.  O 

Dear  Sir— You  are  too  l^te  As  I write  this  letter,  there  is  a string  of  men 
extending  from  my  office  -iear  down  to  the  Soldiers’  Home.  All  oi 

them  want  to  be  employe?  fio'  crowd  embraces  the  Senate  and  House  of 
Representatives  of  the  Y^jssansiu  Legislature,  State  officials,  judges,  journal* 
ists,  jurors.  Justuses  of  the  peace,  orphans,  overseers  of  highways,  fish  commis- 
sioners, pugilists,  widows  of  pugilists,,  unidentified  orphans  of  pugilists,  etc., 
vJtc.,  and  they  are  all  just  about  as  well  qualified  to  be  employes  as  you  are. 

I suppose  you  would  poultice  a hot  box  with  pounded  ice,  and  so  would 
they. 

I am  sorry  to  hear  about  your  lame  leg.  The  surgeon  of  our  road  says 
perhaps  you  do  not  use  it  enough. 

Yours  for  the  thorough  enforcement  of  law, 

A.  V.  H.  Carpenter.  Per  G. 

Not  having  written  to  Mr.  Hughitt  of  the  Northwestern 
road  for  a long  time,  and  fearing  that  he  might  think  I had 
grown  cold  toward  him,  I wrote  the  following  note  on  the 
9th: 

Asheville.  N.  C..  Feb.  9, 1887. 

Marvin  Hughitt,  Second  Vice-President  and  General  Manager  Chicago  & 
Northwestern  Railway,  Chicago,  111. 

Dear  Sir— Exuse  me  for  not  writing  before.  I did  not  wish  to  write  you 
until  I could  do  so  in  a bright  and  cheery  manner,  and  for  some  weeks  I have 
been  the  hot-bed  of  twenty-one  Early  Rose  boils.  It  was  extremely  humorous 
without  being  funny.  My  enemies  gloated  over  me  in  ghoulish  glee. 

I see  by  a recent  statement  in  the  press  that  your  road  has  greatly  in- 
creased in  business.  Do  you  feel  the  need  of  an  employe?  Any  light  em« 
ployment  that  will  be  honorable  without  involving  too  much  perspiration 
would  be  acceptable. 

I am  traveling  about  a good  deal  these  days,  and  if  I can  do  you  any  good 
as  an  agent  or  in  referring  to  your  smooth  road-bed  and  the  magnificent 
scenery  along  your  line,  I would  be  glad  to  regard  that  in  the  light  of  employ* 
ment.  Everywhere  I go  I hear  your  road  very  highly  spoken  of. 

Yours  truly,  BILL  Nye. 

I shall  write  to  some  more  roads  in  a few  weeks.  It 
seems  to  me  there  ought  to  be  work  for  a man  who  is  able 
and  willing  to  be  an  employe. 


That  Night- 

You  and  I,  and  that 
night,  with  its  per- 
fume and  glory! — 

The  scent  of  the  lo- 
custs— the  light  of 
the  moon ; 

And  the  violin  weaving 
the  waltzers  a story, 

Enmeshing  their  feet 
in  the  weft  of  the 
tune, 

Till  their  shadows  uncertain, 
Reeled  round  on  the  curtain, 

While  under  the  trellis  we  drank  in  fne 
June. 

Soaked  through  with  the  midnight,  the 
cedars  were  sleeping, 


Their  shadowy  tresses  outlined  in  the  bright 
Crystal,  moon-smitten  mists,  where  the  fountain’s  heart 
leaping 

Forever,  forever  burst,  full  with  delight ; 

And  its  lisp  on  my  spirit 
Fell  faint  as  that  near  it 
Whose  love  like  a lily  bloomed  out  in  the  night. 

O your  glove  was  an  odorous  sachet  of  blisses! 

The  breath  of  your  fan  was  a breeze  from  Cathay ! 

And  the  rose  at  your  throat  was  a nest  of  spilled  kisses!-" 
And  the  music! — in  fancy  I hear  it  to-day, 

As  I sit  here,  confessing 
Our  secret,  and  blessing 
My  rival  who  found  us,  and  waltzed  you  away 


The  Truth  about  Methuselah 


it  E first  meet  Methuselah  in  the  capae* 
ity  of  a son.  At  the  age  of  sixty-five 
Enoch  arose  one  night  and  telephone  £ 
his  family  physician  to  come  over  and 
assist  him  in  meeting  Methuselah.  Day  at 
last  dawned  on  Enoch’s 
happy  home,  and  its  first 
red  rays  lit  up  the 
still  redder  surface 
of  the  little  strang- 
er. For  three  hun- 
dred years  Enoch 
and  Methuselah 
jogged  along  to- 
gether in  the  capac- 
ity of  father  and 
son.  Then  Enoch 
was  suddenly  cut 
down.  It  was  at 
this  time  that  little 
Methuselah  first  realized  what  it  was  to  be  an  orphan.  He 
could  not  at  first  realize  that  his  father  was  dead.  He 
could  not  understand  why  Enoch,  with  no  inherited  disease, 
should  be  shuffled  off  at  the  age  of  three  hundred  and 


sixty-rive  years.  But  the  doctor  said  to  Methuselah:  “My 
son,  you  are  indeed  fatherless.  I have  done  all  I could, 
but  it  is  useless.  I have  told  Enoch  many  a time  that  if  he 
went  in  swimming  before  the  ice  went  out  of  the  creek  it 
would  finally  down  him,  but  he  thought  he  knew  better 
than  I did.  He  was  a headstrong  man,  Enoch  was.  He 
sneered  at  me  and  alluded  to  me  as  a fresh  young  gosling, 
because  he  was  three  hundred  years  older  than  I was.  He 
has  received  the  reward  of  the  willful,  and  verily  the  doorc 
of  the  smart  Aleck  is  his.” 

Methuselah  now  cast  about  him  for  some  occupation 
which  would  take  up  his  atttention  and  assuage  his  wild, 
passionate  grief  over  the  loss  of  his  father.  H.  entered 
into  the  walks  of  men  and  learned  their  ways.  X-  was  at 
this  time  that  he  learned  the  pernicious  habit  of  using 
tobacco.  We  cannot  wonder  at  it  when  we  remember  that 
he  was  now  fatherless.  He  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  coarse, 
rough  world.  Possibly  he  learned  the  use  of  tobacco  when 
he  went  away  to  attend  business  college  after  the  death  of 
his  father.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  noxious  weed  certainly 
hastened  his  death,  for  six  hundred  years  after  this  we  find 
him  a corpse ! 

Death  is  ever  a surprise,  even  at  the  end  of  a long 
illness  and  after  a ripe  old  age.  To  those  who  are  near  it 
seems  abrupt ; so  to  his  grandchildren,  some  of  whom  sur- 
vived him,  his  children  having  died  of  old  age,  the  death  of 
Methuselah  came  like  a thunderbolt  from  a clear  sky. 

Methuselah  succeeded  in  cording  up  more  of  a record, 
such  as  it  was,  than  any  other  man  of  whom  history 
informs  us.  Time,  the  tomb-builder  and  amateur  mower 
came  and  leaned  over  the  front  yard  and  looked  at  Methu- 
selah, and  ran  his  thumb  over  the  jagged  edge  of  his 
scythe,  and  went  away  whistling  a low  refrain.  He  kept 
up  this  refrain  business  for  nearly  ten  centuries,  while 


to4  NYE  AND  RTZEY’S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 

Methuselah  continued  to  stand  out  amid  the  general  wreck 
of  men  and  nations. 

Even  as  the  young,  strong  mower  going  forth  with  his 
mower  for  to  mow  spareth  the  tall  and  drab  hornet’s 
nest  and  passeth  by  on  the  other  side,  so  Time,  with  his 
YVaterbury  hour-glass  and  his  overworked  hay-knife  over 
his  shoulder,  and  his  long  Mormon  whiskers,  and  his  high 
sleek  dome  of  thought  with  its  gray  lambrequin  of  hair 
around  the  base  of  it,  mowed  all  around  Methuselah  and 
then  passed  on. 

Methuselah  decorated  the  graves  of  those  who  perished 
in  a dozen  different  wars.  He  did  not  enlist  himself,  for 
over  nine  hundred  years  of  his  life  he  was  exempt.  He 
would  go  to  the  enlisting  places  and  offer  his  services,  and 
the  officer  would  tell  him  to  go  home  and  encourage  his 
grandchildren  to  go.  Then  Methuselah  would  sit  around 
Noah’s  front  steps,  and  smoke  and  criticise  the  conduct  of 
the  war,  also  the  conduct  of  the  enemy. 

It  is  said  of  Methuselah  that  he  never  was  the  same 
man  after  his  son  Lamech  died.  He  was  greatly  attached 
to  Lamech,  and,  when  he  woke  up  one  night  to  find  his 
son  purple  in  the  face  with  membraneous  croup,  he  could 
hardly  realize  that  he  might  lose  him.  The  idea  of  losing 
a boy  who  had  just  rounded  the  glorious  morn  of  his  777th 
year  had  never  occurred  to  him.  But  death  loves  a shining 
mark,  and  he  garnered  little  Lammie  and  left  Methuselah 
to  mourn  for  ? couple  of  centuries. 

Methuselah  finally  got  so  that  he  couldn’t  sleep  any 
later  than  4 o’clock  in  the  morning,  and  he  didn’t  see  how 
any  one  else  could.  The  older  he  got,  and  the  less  valuable 
his  time  became,  the  earlier  he  would  rise,  so  that  he  could 
get  an  early  start.  As  the  centuries  filed  slowly  by,  and 
Methuselah  got  to  where  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  shuffle 
into  his  loose-fitting  clothes  and  rest  his  gums  on  the  top  of 
a large  slick-headed  cane  and  mutter  up  the  chimney,  and 


then  groan  and  extricate  himself  from  his  clothes  again  and 
retire,  he  rose  earlier  and  earlier  in  the  morning,  and  mut- 
tered more  and  more  about  the  young  folks  sleeping  away 
the  best  of  the  day,  and  he  said  he  had  no  doubt  that  sleep* 
ing  and  snoring  till  breakfast  time  helped  to  carry  off  Lam. 
But  one  day  old  Father  Time  came  along  with  a new 
scythe,  and  he  drew  the  whetstone  across  it  a few  times, 
and  rolled  the  sleeves  of  his  red-flannel  undergarment  up 
Over  his  warty  elbows,  and  Mr.  Methuselah  passed  on  to 
that  undiscovered  country,  with  a ripe  experience  and  a 
long,  clean  record. 

We  car  almost  fancy  how  the  physicians,  who  had  disa- 
greed about  his  case  all  the  way  through,  came  and  insisted 
on  a post-mortem  examination  to  prove  which  was  right 
and  what  was  really  th^  matter  with  him.  We  can  imagine 
how  people  went  by  shading  their  heads  and  regretting  that 
Methuselah  should  have  tampered  with  tobacco  when  he 
knew  that  it  affected  his  heart. 

But  he  is  gone.  He  lived  to  see  his  own  promissory 
notes  rise,  flourish,  acquire  interest,  pine  away  at  last  and 
finally  outlaw.  He  acquired  a large  farm  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  county-seat,  and  refused  to  move  or  to  plot,  and 
called  it  Methuselah’s  addition.  He  came  out  in  spring 
regularly  for  nine  hundred  years  after  he  got  too  old  to 
workout  his  poll-taxon  the  road,  and  put  in  his  time  telling 
the  rising  generation  how  to  make  a good  road.  Meantime 
other  old  people,  who  were  almost  one  hundred  years  of 
age,  moved  away  and  went  West  where  they  would  attract 
attention  and  command  respect.  There  was  actually  no 
pleasure  in  getting  old  around  where  Methuselah  was,  and 
being  ordered  about  and  scolded  and  kept  in  the  background 
by  him. 

So,  when  at  last  he  died,  people  sighed  and  said : “Well, 
it  was  better  for  him  to  die  before  he  got  childish.  It  was 
best  that  he  should  die  at  a time  when  he  knew  it  all.  We 


/o6 


NYE  AND  RILEY'**  /RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


can’t  help  thinking  what  an  acquisition  Methuselah  will  be 
on  the  evergreen  shore  when  he  gets  there,  with  all  his  ripe 
experience  and  his  habits  of  early  rising.” 

And  the  next  morning  after  the  funeral  Methuselah’s 
family  did  not  get  out  of  bed  till  nearly  9 o’clock. 


A Blac^  trills  Bpisodg, 

A little,  warty,  dried-up  sort 
O’  lookin’  chap  ’at  hadn’t  ort 
A ben  a-usin’  round  no  bar, 

With  gents  like  us  a-drinkin*  thar! 

And  that  idee  occurred  to  me 
The  livin’  minit  ’at  I see 
The  little  cuss  elbowin’  in 
To  humor  his  besettin’  sin. 

There  ’re  nothin’  small  in  me  at  all, 

But  when  I heer  the  rooster  call 
For  shugar  and  a spoon,  I says: 

“Jest  got  in  from  the  States,  I guess.” 

He  never  ’peared  as  if  he  heerd, 

But  stood  thar,  wipin’  uv  his  beard, 

And  smilin’  to  hisself  as  if 
I’d  been  a-givin’  him  a stiff. 

And  I-says-I,  a edgin’  by 
The  bantam,  and  a-gazin’  high 
Above  his  plug — says  I : “I  knowed 
A little  feller  onc’t  ’at  blowed 

“Around  like  you,  and  tuck  his  drinks 
With  shugar  in — and  his  folks  thinks 
He’s  dead  now — ‘cause  we  boxed  and  sent 
The  scraps  back  to  the  Settlement!** 
***** 

The  boys  tells  me,  ’at  got  to  see 


His  modus  operandum , he 

Jest  ’peared  to  come  onjointed-like 

Afore  he  ever  struck  a strike ! 

And  1*11  admit,  the  way  he  fit 
Wuz  dazzlin’ — what  I see  uv  hit; 
And  squarin’  things  up  fair  and  fine, 
Says  I:  “A  little  *shug*  in  miner* 


The  E^ossville  Lecture  Course, 


Rossville,  Mich.,  March  *87. — 

OLKS  up  here  at  Rossville  got  up 
a lectur’-course ; 

All  the  leadin’  citizens  they  wus  out 
in  force; 

Met  and  talked  at  Williamses,  and 
’greed  to  meet  agin, 

And  helt  another  corkus  when  the 
next  reports  wuz  in  ; 

Met  agin  at  Samuelses ; and  met 
agin  at  Moore’s, 

And  Johnts  he  put  the  shutters  up 
and  jest  barred  the  doors  ! — 

And  yit,  I’ll  jest  be  dagg-don’d ! ef  didn’t  take  a week 
’Fore  we’d  settled  where  to  write  to  git  a man  to  speak! 


Found  out  where  the  Bureau  wus,  and  then  and  there 
agreed 

To  strike  while  the  iron’s  hot,  and  foller  up  the  lead. 


£10 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE 


Simp  was  secatary ; so  he  tuck  his  pen  in  hand, 

And  ast  what  they’d  tax  us  for  the  one  on  “ Holy  Land 
“ One  of  Colonel  J.  De-Koombs  Abelust  and  Best 
Lecturs,”  the  circ’lar  stated,  “Give  East  er  West!” 
Wanted  fifty  dollars,  and  his  kyar-fare  to  and  from, 

And  Simp  was  hence  instructed  fer  to  write  him  not  to 
come. 


Then  we  talked  and  jawed  around  another  week  er  so, 

And  writ  the  Bureau  ’bout  the  town  a-bein’  sort  o’  slow 
And  fogey-like,  and  pore  as  dirt,  and  lackin’  enterprise, 
And  ignornter’n  any  other  ’cordin’  to  its  size : 

Till  finally  the  Bureau  said  they’d  send  a cheaper  man 
Fer  forty  dollars,  who  would  give  “A  Talk  About  Japan”—* 
“ A regular  Japanee  hiss’f,”  the  pamphlet  claimed;  and  so, 
Nobody  knowed  his  languige,  and  of  course  we  let  him  go! 


Kindo’  then  let  up  a spell  — but  rallied  onc’t  ag’in, 

And  writ  to  price  a feller  on  what’s  called  the  “violin  ” — 

A Swede,  er  Pole,  er  somepin  — but  no  matter  what  he  wus, 
Doc  Sifers  said  he’d  heerd  him,  and  he  wusn’t  wuth  a kuss! 
And  then  we  ast  fer  Swingses  terms ; and  Cooky  and 
Ingersoll  — 

And  blame!  ef  forty  dollars  looked  like  anything  at  all! 

And  then  Burdcttey  we  tried  fer  him  ; and  Bob  he  writ  to 
say 

He  was  busy  writin’  ortographts,  and  couldn’t  git  away. 


At  last  — along  in  Aprile — we  signed  to  take  this-here 
Bill  Nye  of  Californy,  ’at  was  posted  to  appear 
“The  Humorestest  Funny  Man  ’at  Ever  Jammed  a Hall!*' 
So  we  made  big  preparations,  and  swep’  out  the  church 
and  all! 


THE  ROSSViLLE  LECTURE  COURSE. 


Ill 


And  night  he  wus  to  lectur',  and  the  neighbors  all  was 
there, 

And  strangers  packed  along  the  aisles  'at  come  from  ever** 
where, 

Committee  got  a telegrapht  the  preacher  read,  'at  run  — 
!*Got  off  at  Rossville,  Indiany,  'stead  of  Michigun." 


The  Tarheel  Cow. 


Asheville,  N.  C., 
December  9. — There  is 
no  place  in  the  United 
States,  so  far  as  I know, 
where  the  cow  is  more 
versatile  or  ambidex- 
trous, if  I may  be  al- 
lowed the  use  of  a term 
that  is  far  above  my 
station  in  life,  than  here 
in  the  mountains  of 
North  Carolina,  where 
the  obese  ’possum  and 
the  anonymous  distiller 
have  their  homes. 

Not  only  is  the  Tar- 
heel cow  the  author  of 
a pale,  but  athletic  style 
of  butter,  but  in  her 
leisure  hours  she  aids 
in  tilling  the  perpen- 
dicular farm  on  the 
hillside,  or  draws  the 
products  to  market.  In 
this  way  she  contrives 
to  put  in  her  time  to 
the  best  advantage,  and 
when  she  dies,  it  casts 
a gloom  over  the  com- 
munity in  which  she 
has  resided. 


The  life  of  a North  Carolina  cow  is  indeed  fraught  with 
various  changes  and  saturated  with  a zeal  which  is  praise- 
worthy in  the  extreme.  From  the  sunny  days  when  she 
gambols  through  the  beautiful  valleys,  inserting  her  black 
retrousse  and  perspiration-dotted  nose  into  the  blue  grass 
from  ear  to  ear,  until  at  life’s  close,  when  every  part  and  por- 
tion of  her  overworked  system  is  turned  into  food,  raiment  or 
overcoat  buttons,  the  life  of  a Tar-heel. cow  is  one  of  intense 
activity. 

Her  girlhood  is  short,  and  almost  before  we  have  deemed 
her  emancipated  from  calfhood  herself  we  find  her  in  the 
capacity  of  a mother.  With  the  cares  of  maternity  other 
demands  are  quickly  made  upon  her.  She  is  obliged  to 
ostracize  herself  from  society,  and  enter  into  the  prosaic 
details  of  producing  small,  pallid  globules  of  butter,  the 
very  pallor  of  which  so  thoroughly  belies  its  lusty  strength. 

The  butter  she  turns  out 
rapidly  until  it  begins  to  be 
worth  something,  when  she 
suddenly  suspends  publi- 
cation and  begins  to 
haul  wood  to  market. 
In  this  great  work 
she  is  assisted  by  the 
pearl-gray  or  ecru 
colored  jackass  of 
the  tepid  South. 
This  animal  has 
been  referred  to  in 
the  newspapers 
throughout  the  country, 
and  yet  he  never  ceases  to  be  an  object  of  the  greatest 
interest. 

Jackasses  in  the  South  are  of  two  kinds,  viz.,  male  and 
female.  Much  as  has  been  said  of  the  jackass  pro  and  con, 


I do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  the  above  statement 
in  print  before,  and  yet  it  is  as  trite  as  it  is  incontrovertible. 
In  the  Rocky  mountains  we  call  this  animal  the  burro. 
There  he  packs  bacon,  flour  and  salt  to  the  miners.  The 
miners  eat  the  bacon  and  flour,  and  with  the  salt  they  are 
enabled  successfully  to  salt  the  mines. 

The  burro  has  a low,  contralto  voice  which  ought  to  have 
some  machine  oil  on  it.  The  voice  of  this  animal  is  not 
unpleasant  if  he  would  pull  some  of  the  pathos  out  of  it  and 
make  it  more  joyous. 

Here  the  jackass  at  times  becomes  a co-worker  with  the 
cow  in  hauling  tobacco  and  Other  necessaries  of  life  into 
town,  but  he  goes  no  further  in  the  matter  of  assistance. 
He  compels  her  to  tread  the  cheese  press  alone  and  con- 
tributes nothing  whatever  in  the  way  of  assistance  for  the 
butter  industry. 

The  North  Carolina  cow  is  frequently  seen  here  driven 
double  or  single  by  means  of  a small  rope  line  attached  to  a 
tall,  emaciated  gentleman,  who  is  generally  clothed  with  the 
divine  right  of  suffrage,  to  which  he  adds  a small  pair  of  ear- 
bobbs  during  the  holidays. 

The  cow  is  attached  to  each  shaft  and  a small  singletree, 
or  swingletree,  by  means  of  a broad  strap  harness.  She 
also  wears  a breeching,  in  which  respect  she  frequently  has 
the  advantage  of  her  escort. 

I think  I have  never  witnessed  a sadder  sight  than  that 
of  a new  milch  cow,  torn  away  from  home  and  friends  and 
kindred  dear,  descending  a steep,  mountain  road  at  a rapid 
rate  and  striving  in  her  poor,  weak  manner  to  keep  out  of 
the  way  of  a small  Jackson  Democratic  wagon  loaded  with 
a big  hogshead  full  of  tobacco.  It  seems  to  me  so  totally 
foreign  to  the  nature  of  the  cow  to  enter  into  the  tobacco 
traffic,  a line  of  business  for  which  she  can  have  no  sympa- 
thy and  in  which  she  certainly  can  feel  very  little  interest. 

Tobacco  of  the  very  finest  kind  is  produced  here,  aud  is 


THE  TAR-HEEL  CO  W. 


H3 


dsed  mainly  for  smoking  purposes.  It  is  the  highest  -price 
tobacco  produced  in  this  country.  A tobacco  broker  here 
yesterday  showed  me  a large  quantity  of  what  he  called 
export  tobacco.  It  looks  very  much  like  other  tobacco 
while  growing. 

He  says  that  foreigners  use  a great  deal  of  this  kind.  1 
am  learning  all  about  the  tobacco  industry  while  here,  and 
as  fast  as  I get  hold  of  any  new  facts  I will  communicate 
them  to  the  press.  The  newspapers  of  this  country  have 
done  much  for  me,  not  only  by  publishing  many  pleasant 
things  about  me,  but  by  refraining  from  publishing  othei 
things  about  me,  and  so  I am  glad  to  be  able,  now  and  then, 
to  repay  this  kindness  by  furnishing  information  and  facts 
for  which  I have  no  use  myself,  but  which  may  be  of  incal- 
culable value  to  the  press. 

As  I write  these  lines  I am  informed  that  the  snow  is 
twenty-six  inches  deep  here  and  four  feet  deep  at  High 
Point  in  this  State.  People  who  did  not  bring  in  their  pome- 
granates last  evening  are  bitterly  bewailing  their  thoughtless- 
ness today. 

A great  many  people  come  here  from  various  parts  of 
the  world,  for  the  climate.  When  they  have  remained  here 
for  one  winter,  however,  they  decide  to  leave  it  where  it  is. 

It  is  said  that  the  climate  here  is  very  much  like  that  of 
Turin.  But  I did  not  intend  to  go  to  Turin  even  before  I 
heard  about  that. 

Please  send  my  paper  to  the  same  address,  and  if  some 
one  who  knows  a good  remedy  for  chilblains  will  contribute 
it  to  these  columns,  I shall  watch  for  it  with  great  interest. 
Yours  as  here  2 4,  Bill  Nye. 

P.  S. — I should  have  said,  relative  to  the  cow  of  this 
State  that  if  the  owners  would  work  their  butter  more  and 
their  cows  less,  they  would  confer  a great  boon  on  the  con- 
sumer of  both.  B.  M- 


A Character. 

I. 

Swallowed  up  in  gulfs  o$ 
tho’t— 

Eye-glass  fixed — on— 

who  knows  what? 

We  but  know  he  sees  us 
not. 

Chance  upon  him,  here 
and  there — 

Base-ball  park — Industri- 
al Fair — 

Broadway — Long  Branch 
— anywhere ! 

Even  at  the  races, —yet 
With  his  eye-glass  tranced 
and  set 

On  some  dream-land 
minaret. 

At  the  beach,  the  where, 
perchance — 

Tenderest  of  eyes  may  glance 
On  the  fitness  of  his  pants. 

Vain!  all  admiration — vain! 

His  mouth,  o’er  and  o'  er  again, 

Absently  absorbs  his  cane. 

Vain,  as  well,  all  tribute  paid 
To  his  morning  coat,  inlaid 
With  crossbars  of  every  shade. 


A CHARACTER 


He  is  so  oblivious,  tho* 

We  played  checkers  to  and  frc 
On  his  back — he  would  not  know. 

II. 

So  removed — illustrious— 

Peace!  kiss  hands,  and  leave  him  thus. 
He  hath  never  need  of  us! 

Come  away ! Enough ! Let  be ! 

Purest  praise,  to  such  as  he, 

Were  as  basest  obloquy. 

Vex  no  more  that  mind  of  his, 

We,  to  him,  are  but  as  phizz 
Un'  o pop  that  knows  it  is. 

Haj.1  /■,  even  as  we  prate 

Of  him  HERE — in  astral  state — 

Or  jaokastral — he,  elate, 

Bromes  ’round,  with  sportive  hops 
In  far  fields  of  sphery  crops, 

Nibbl  ng  stars  like  clover-tops. 

He,  occult  and  psychic,  may 
Now  be  solving  why  to-day 
Is  not  midnight. — But  away! 

Cease  vain  queries ! Let  us  go ! 

Leave  him  all  unfathomed. — Lo, 

He  can  hear  his  whiskers  grow. 


The  Diary  of  Dariiis  T,  S^it^r, 

“Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  New  York,  Dec.  31,  188  . — It 
hardly  seems  possible  that  I am  here  in  New  York,  putting 
up  at  a hotel  where  it  costs  me  $5  or  $6  a day  just  simply  tc 


exist.  I came  here  from  my  far  away-home  entirely  alone. 
I have  no  business  here,  but  I simply  desired  to  rub  up 


THE  DIARY  CF  DARIUS,  T.  SKINNER.  jj9 

against  greatness  for  awhile.  I need  polish,  and  I am  smart 
enough  to  know  it. 

“I  write  this  entry  in  my  diary  to  explain  who  I am  and 
to  help  identify  myself  in  case  I should  come  home  to  my 
room  intoxicated  some  night  and  blow  out  the  gas. 

“The  reason  I am  here  is,  that  last  summer  while  whack- 
ing bulls,  which  is  really  my  business,  I grub-staked  Alonzo 
McReddy  and  forgot  about  it  till  I got  back  and  the  boys 
told  me  that  Lon  had  struck  a First  National  bank  in  the 
shape  of  the  Sarah  Waters  claim.  He  was  then  very  low 
with  mountain  fever  and  Sw  nobody  felt  like  jumping  the 
claim.  Saturday  afternoon  Alonzo  passed  away  and  left 
me  the  Sarah  Waters.  That’s  the  only  sad  thing  about  the 
whole  business  now.  I am  raised  from  bull-whacking  to 
affluence,  but  Alonzo  is  not  here.  How  we  would  take  in 
the  town  together  if  he’d  lived,  for  the  Sarah  Waters  was 
enough  to  make  us  both  well  fixed, 

“I  can  imagine  Lon’s  look  of  surprise  and  pride  as  he 
looks  over  the  outer  battlements  of  the  New  Jerusalem  and 
watches  me  paint  the  town.  Little  did  Lon  think  when  I 
pulled  out  across  the  flat  with  my  whiskers  full  of  alkali 
dust  and  my  cuticle  full  of  raw  agency  whisky,  that  inside 
of  a year  I would  be  a nabob,  wearing  biled  shirts  every 
single  day  of  my  life,  and  clothes  made  specially  for  me. 

“Life  is  full  of  sudden  turns,  and  no  one  knows  here  in 
America  where  he’ll  be  in  two  weeks  from  now.  I may  be 
back  there  associating  with  greasers  again  as  of  yore  and 
skinning  the  same  bulls  that  I have  heretofore  skun. 

“Last  evening  I went  to  see  ‘The  Mikado,*  a kind  o! 
singing  theatre  and  Chinese  walk-around.  It  is  what  I 
would  call  no  good.  It  is  acted  out  by  different  people  who 
claim  they  are  Chinamen,  I reckon.  They  teeter  around 
on  the  stage  and  sing  in  the  English  language,  but  theii 
clothes  are  peculiar.  A homely  man,  who  played  that,  he 


120 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE, 


was  the  lord  high  executioner  and  chairman  of  the  vigilance 
committee,  wore  a pair  of  wide,  bandana  pants,  which  came 
off  during  the  first  act.  He  was  cool  and  collected,  though, 
and  so  caught  them  before  it  was  everlasting  too  late.  He 
held  them  on  by  one  hand  while  he  sang  the  rest  of  his  piece, 
and  when  he  left  the  stage  the  audience  heartlessly  whooped 
for  him  to  come  back. 

“ ‘The  Mikado*  is  not  funny  or  instructive  as  a general 
thing,  but  last  night  it  was  accidently  facetious.  It  has  too 
much  singing  and  not  enough  vocal  music  about  it.  There 
is  also  an  overplus  of  conversation  through  the  thing  that 
seems  like  talking  at  a mark  for  $2  a week.  It  may  be 
owing  to  my  simple  ways,  but  ‘The  Mikado’  is  too  rich  for 
my  blood. 

“Wo  live  well  here  at  the  Fifth  Avenue.  The  man  that 
owns  the  place  puts  two  silver  forks  and  a clean  tablecloth 
on  my  table  every  day,  and  the  young  fellows  that  pass  the 
grub  around  are  so  well  dressed  that  it  seems  sassy  and  pre- 
sumptious  for  me  to  bother  them  by  asking  them  to  bring 
me  stuff  when  I’d  just  as  soon  go  and  get  it  myself  and 
nothing  else  in  the  world  to  do. 

“I  told  the  waiter  at  my  table  yesterday  that  when  he 
got  time  I wished  he  would  come  up  to  my  room  and  we 
could  have  a game  of  old  sledge.  He  is  a nice  young  man, 
and  puts  himself  out  a good  deal  to  make  me  comfortable. 

“I  found  something  yesterday  at  the  table  that  bothered 
me.  It  was  a new  kind  of  a silver  dingus,  with  two  handles 
to  it,  for  getting  a lump  of  sugar  into  your  tea.  I saw  right 
away  that  it  was  for  that,  but  when  I took  the  two  handles 
in  my  hand  like  a nut  cracker  and  tried  to  scoop  up  a lump 
of  sugar  with  it  I felt  embarrassed.  Several  people  who 
were  total  strangers  to  me  smiled. 

“After  dinner  the  waiter  brought  me  a little  pink-glass 
bowl  of  lemonade  and  a clean  wipe  to  dry  my  mouth  with, 


THE  DIARY  OF  DARIUS,  T0  SKINNER. 


121 


I reckon,  after  I drank  the  lemonade.  I do  not  pine  for 
lemonade  much,  anyhow,  but  this  was  specially  poor.  It 
was  just  plain  water,  with  a lemon  rind  and  no  sugar  into  it. 

“ One  rural  rooster  from  Pittsburg  showed  his  contempt 
for  the  blamed  stuff  by  washing  his  hands  in  it.  I may  be 
rough  and  uncouth  in  my  style,  but  I hope  I will  never 
lower  myself  like  that  in  company/' 


O,  The  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a crick  in  his  back; 


Wheel 

Whimm! 

Ain’t  you  sorry  for  him? 

And  a mole  on  his  nose  that  is  purple  and  black; 
And  his  eyes  are  so  weak  that  they  water  and  run 
If  he  dares  to  dream  even  he  looks  at  the  sun, — 
So  he  just  dreams  of  stars,  as  the  doctors  advise — 
My! 

Eyes ! 

But  isn’t  he  wise — 

To  just  dream  of  stars,  as  the  doctors  advise? 

And  The  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a boil  on  his  ear — 
Whee! 

Whing! 

What  a singular  thing! 

I know;  but  these  facts  are  authentic,  my  dear, — 
There’s  a boil  on  his  ear,  and  a corn  on  his  chin — 
He  calls  it  a dimple, — but  dimples  stick  in — 

Yet  it  might  be  a dimple  turned  over,  you  know; 
Whang! 

Hoi 


Why,  certainly  so! — 

It  might  be  a dimple  turned  over,  you  know! 

And  The  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a rheumatic  knee— 

Gee! 

Whizz! 

What  a pity  that  is! 

And  Ms  toes  have  worked  round  where  his  heels  ought 
to  be. — 

So  whenever  he  wants  to  go  North  he  goes  South, 

And  comes  back  with  porridge-crumbs  all  round  his  mouth, 
And  he  brushes  them  off  with  a Japanese  fan, 

Whing! 

Whann! 

What  a marvelous  man! 

What  a very  remarkably  marvelous  man! 


w\ 


I watch  him,  with  his  Christmas 
sled; 

He  hitches  on  behind 
A passing  sleigh,  with  glad 
hooray, 

And  whistles  down  the  wind; 
He  hears  the  horses  champ 
their  bits, 

\ ~ ■ - And  bells  that  jingle-jingle — 

You  Woolly  Cap!  you  Scarlet  Mitts! 

You  miniature  “ Kriss  KringleT' 


I almost  catch  your  secret  joy — 
Your  chucklings  of  delight, 

The  while  you  whizz  where  glory  is 
Eternally  in  sight! 

With  you  I catch  my  breath,  as  swift 
Your  jaunty  sled  goes  gliding 
O er  glassy  track  and  shallow  drift, 
As  I behind  were  riding! 


HIS  CHRISTMAS  SLED. 


125 


He  winks  at  twinklings  of  the  frost, 
And  on  his  airy  race, 

Its  tingles  beat  to  redder  heat 
The  rapture  of  his  face: — 

The  colder,  keener  is  the  air, 

The  less  he  cares  a feather. 

But,  there!  he’s  gone!  and  I gaze  on 
The  wintriest  of  weather! 

Ah,  boy!  still  speeding  o’er  the  track 
Where  none  returns  again, 

To  sigh  for  you,  or  cry  for  you, 

Or  die  for  you  were  vain. — 

And  so,  speed  on ! the  while  I pray 
All  nipping  frosts  forsake  you — 
Ride  still  ahead  of  grief,  but  may 
All  glad  things  overtake  you! 


tjgr  Tired  Ffatjds. 


BOARD  a western 
train  the  other  day, 
I held  in  my  bosom 
for  over  seventy-five 
miles,  the  elbow  of  a 
large  man  whose 
name  I do  not  know. 
He  was  not  a rail- 
t T ('  7 roa<^  ^og  or  I would 

7 have  resented  it.  He 

( A was  built  wide  and 

he  couldn’t  help  it, 
so  I forgave  him. 

He  had  a large, 
gentle,  kindly  eye, 
and  when  he  desired 
to  spit,  he  went  to 
the  car  door,  opened 
it  and  decorated  the 
entire  outside  of  the  train  forgetting  that  our  speed  would 
help  to  give  scope  to  his  remarks. 

Naturally  as  he  sat  there  by  my  side,  holding  on  tightly 
to  his  ticket  and  evidently  afraid  that  the  conductor  would 
forget  to  come  and  get  it,  I began  to  figure  out  in  my  mind 
what  might  be  his  business.  He  had  pounded  one  thumb 
so  that  the  nail  was  black  where  the  blood  had  settled  under 
it.  This  might  happen  to  a shoemaker,  a carpenter,  a 
blacksmith  or  most  any  one  else.  So  it  didn’t  help  me  out 


HER  TIRED  HANDS. 


12) 


much,  though  it  looked  to  me  as  though  tt  might  ha're  been 
done  by  trying  to  drive  a fence-nail  through  a leather  hinge 
with  the  back  of  an  axe  and  nobody  but  a farmer  would  try 
to  do  that.  Follow5  ,g  up  the  clue,  I discovered  that  he  had 
milked  on  his  boots  and  then  I knew  I was  right.  The  man 
who  milks  before  daylight,  in  a dark  barn,  when  the  ther* 


mometer  is  down  to  28  degrees  below  and  who  hits  his  boo* 
and  misses  the  pail,  by  reason  of  the  cold  and  the  uncer 
tab*  light  and  the  prudishness  of  the  cow,  is  a marked  man 
He  cannot  conceal  the  fact  that  he  is  a farmer  unless  n 
removes  that  badge.  So  I started  out  on  that  theory  and 
remarked  that  this  would  pass  for  a pretty  hard  winter  oq 
stock. 


12$ 


.rrYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


The  thought  was  not  original  with  me,  for  I havt  heard 
ft  expressed  by  others  either  in  this  country  or  Europe.  He 
said  it  would. 

“My  cattle  has  gone  through  a whole  mowful  o*  hay 
sence  October  and  eleven  ton  o’  brand.  Hay  don’t  seem 
to  have  the  goodness  to  it  thet  it  hed  last  year,  and  with 
their  new  pro- cess  griss  mills  they  jerk  all  the  juice  out  o* 


jo’s  you  might  as  well  feed  cows  with  excelsior  and 
apholsl  ryour  horses  with  hemlock  bark  as  to  buy  brand.” 
“Wed,  why  do  you  run  so  much  to  stock?  Why  don’t 
you  try  d versified  farming,  and  rotation  ol  crops?” 

“Well,  probably  you  got  that  idee  in  the  papers.  A man 
that  earns  big  wages  writing  Farm  Hints  for  agricultural 
papers  can  make  more  money  with  a soft  lead  pencil  and 
two  or  three  season-cracked  idees  like  that’n  I can  carrying 


of  'em  out  on  the  farm.  We  used  to  have  a feller  in  the 
drugstore  in  our  town  that  wrote  such  good  pieces  for  the 
Rural  Vermonter  and  made  up  such  a good  condition  pow- 
der out  of  his  own  head,  that  two  years  ago  we  asked  him 
to  write  a nessay  for  the  annual  meeting  of  the  Buckwheat 
Trust,  and  to  use  his  own  judgment  about  choice  of  sub- 
ject. And  what  do  you  s’pose  he  had  selected  for  a nessay 
that  took  the  whole  forenoon  to  read?” 

“What  subject,  you  mean?” 

“Yes.” 

“Give  it  up!” 

“Well,  he’d  wrote  out  that  whole  blamed  intellectual 
wad  on  the  subject  of  ‘The  Inhumanity  of  Dehorning  Hy- 
draulic Rams.’  How’s  that?” 

“That’s  pretty  fair.” 

“Well,  farmin’ is  like  runnin*  a paper  in  regards  to  some 
things.  Every  feller  in  the  world  will  take  and  turn  in  and 
tell  you  how  to  do  it,  even  if  he  don’t  know  a blame  thing 
about  it.  There  ain’t  a man  in  the  United  States  to-day 
that  don’t  secretly  think  he  could  run  airy  one  if  his  other 
business  busted  on  him,  whether  he  knows  the  difference 
between  a new  milch  cow  and  a horse  hayrake  or  not.  We 
had  one  of  these  embroidered  night-shirt  farmers  come  from 
town  better’n  three  years  ago.  Been  a toilet  soap  man  and 
done  well,  and  so  he  came  out  and  bought  a farm  that  had 
nothing  to  it  but  a fancy  house  and  barn,  a lot  of  medder 
in  the  front  yard  and  a southern  aspect.  The  farm  was  no 
good.  You  couldn’t  raise  a disturbance  on  it.  Well,  what 
does  he  do?  Goes  and  gits  a passle  of  slim-tailed,  yeller 
cows  from  New  Jersey  and  aims  to  handle  cream  and  diver- 
sified farming.  Last  year  the  cuss  sent  a load  of  cream  over 
and  tried  to  sell  it  at  the  new  crematory  while  the  funeral 
and  hollercost  was  goin*  on.  I may  be  a sort  of  a chump 
myself,  but  I read  my  paper  and  don’t  get  left  like  that.” 
“What  are  the  prospects  for  farmers  in  your  State?r' 


130 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


“Well,  they  are  pore.  Never  was  so  pore,  in  fact,  sence 
.1  Ve  ben  there.  Folks  wonder  why  boys  leaves  the  farm. 
My  boys  left  so  as  to  get  protected,  they  said,  and  so  they 
went  into  a clothing-store,  one  of  ’em,  and  one  went  into 
hardware  and  one  is  talking  protection  in  the  Legislature 
this  winter.  They  said  that  farmin’  was  gittin’  to  be  like 
fishin’  and  huntin’,  well  enough  for  a man  that  has  means 
and  leisure,  but  they  couldn’t  make  a livin’  at  it,  they  said. 


Another  boy  is  in  a drug  store,  and  the  man  that  hires 
him  says  he  is  a royal  feller.” 

“Kind  of  a castor  royal  feller,”  I said,  with  a shriek  of 
laughter. 

He  waited  until  I had  laughed  all  I wanted  to  and  then 
he  said: 

“I’ve  always  hollered  for  hign  terriff  in  order  tohyst  the 
public  debt,  but  now  that  we’ve  got  the  national  debt  coop- 
ered I wish  they’d  take  a little  hack  at  mine.  I’ve  put  in 


HER  TIRED  HANDS. 


131 


fifty  years  farmin'.  I never  drank  licker  in  any  form.  I’ve 
worked  from  ten  to  eighteen  hours  a day,  been  economical 
in  cloze  and  never  went  to  a show  more’n  a dozen  times  in 
my  life,  raised  a family  and  learned  upward  of  two  hundred 
calves  to  drink  out  of  a tin  pail  without  blowing  all  theit 
vittles  up  my  sleeve.  * My  wife  worked  alongside  o’  me 
sewin’ new  seats  on  the  boys’  pants,  skimmin’milk  and  even 
helpin’  me  load  hay.  For  forty  years  we  toiled  along  to- 
gether and  hardly  got  time  to  look  into  each  others’  faces 
or  dared  to  stop  and  get  acquainted  with  each  other.  Then 
her  health  failed.  Ketched  cold  in  the  spring  house,  probly 
skimmin*  milk  and  washin’  pans  and  scaldin’  pails  and 
spankin’  butter.  Anyhow,  she  took  in  a long  breath  one 
day  while  the  doctor  and  me  was  watchin’  her,  and  she  says 
to  me,  ‘Henry,’  says  she,  ‘I’ve  got  a chance  to  rest,’  and  she 
put  one  tired,  wore-out  hand  on  top  of  the  other  tired,  wore- 
out  hand,  and  I knew  she’d  gone  where  they  don’t  work  all 
day  and  do  chores  all  night. 

“ I took  time  to  kiss  her  then.  I’d  been  too  busy  for  a 
good  while  previous  to  that,  and  then  I called  in  the  boys. 
After  the  funeral  it  was  too  much  for  them  to  stay  around 
and  eat  the  kind  of  cookin’  we  had  to  put  up  with,  and 
nobody  spoke  up  around  the  house  as  we  used  to.  The 
boys  quit  whistlin’  around  the  barn  and  talked  kind  of  low 
by  themselves  about  goin’  to  town  and  gettin’  a job. 

“ They’re  all  gone  now  and  the  snow  is  four  feet  deep 
on  mother’s  grave  up  there  in  the  old  berryin’  ground.” 

Then  both  of  us  looked  out  of  the  car  window  quite  a 
long  while  without  saying  anything. 

“ I don’t  blame  the  boys  for  going  into  something  else 
long’s  other  things  pays  better;  but  I say  — and  I say 
what  I know  — that  the  man  who  holds  the  prosperity  of 
this  country  in  his  hands,  the  man  that  actually  makes 
money  for  other  people  to  spend,  the  man  that  eats  three 
good,  simple,  square  meals  a day  and  goes  to  bed  at  nin« 


132 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE . 


o’clock,  so  that  future  generations  with  good  blood  and  cool 
brains  can  go  from  his  farm  to  the  Senate  and  Congress 
and  the  White  House  — he  is  the  man  that  gets  left  at  last 
to  run  his  farm,  with  nobody  to  help  him  but  a hired  man 
and  a high  protective  terriff.  The  farms  in  our  State  is 
mortgaged  for  over  seven  hundred  million  dollars.  Ten  of 
our  Western  States  — I see  by  the  papers  — has  got  about 
three  billion  and  a half  mortgages  on  their  farms,  and  that 
don’t  count  the  chattel  mortgages  filed  with  the  town  clerks 
on  farm  machinery,  stock,  waggins,  and  even  crops,  by 
gosh!  that  ain’t  two  inches  high  under  the  snow.  That’s 
what  the  prospects  is  for  farmers  now.  The  Government 
is  rich,  but  the  men  that  made  it,  the  men  that  fought 
perarie  fires  and  perarie  wolves  and  Injins  and  potato-bugs 
and  blizzards,  and  has  paid  the  war  debt  and  pensions  and 
everything  else  and  hollered  for  the  Union  and  the  Repub- 
lican party  and  free  schools  and  high  terriff  and  anything  else 
that  they  was  told  to,  is  left  high  and  dry  this  cold  winter 
with  a mortgage  of  seven  billions  and  a half  on  the  farms 
they  have  earned  and  saved  a thousand  times  over." 

“ Yes;  but  look  at  the  glory  of  sending  from  the  farm 
the  future  President,  the  future  Senator  and  the  future 
member  of  Congress." 

“That  looks  well  on  paper,  but  what  does  it  really 
amount  to  ? Soon  as  a farmer  boy  gits  in  a place  like  that 
he  forgets  the  soil  that  produced  him  and  holds  his  head 
as  high  as  a holly-hock.  He  bellers  for  protection  to 
everybody  but  the  farmer,  and  while  he  sails  round  in  a 
highty-tighty  room  with  a fire  in  it  night  and  day,  his  father 
on  the  farm  has  to  kindle  his  own  fire  in  the  morning  with 
elm  slivvers,  and  he  has  to  wear  his  son’s  lawn-tennis  suit 
next  to  him  or  freeze  to  death,  and  he  has  to  milk  in  an 
old  gray  shawl  that  has  held  that  member  of  Congress 
when  he  was  a baby,  by  gorry ! and  the  old  lady  has  to 


HER  TIRED  HANDS, 


to? 

sojourn  through  the  winter  in  the  flanneV-  diak  vitas  wore 
at  the  riggatter  before  he  went  to  Congress. 

“ So  I say,  and  I think  that  Congress  agrees  with  me, 
Damn  a farmer,  anyhow ! ” 

He  then  went  away. 


Ezra  Ffoiis^ 

Come  listen,  good  people,  while  a story  I do  tell, 

Of  the  sad  fate  of  one  which  I knew  so  passing  well ; 

He  enlisted  at  McCordsville,  to  battle  in  the  south. 

And  protect  his  country’s  union ; his  name  was  Ezra  House. 

He  was  a young  school-teacher,  and  educated  high 
In  regards  to  Ray’s  arithmetic,  and  also  Algebra. 

He  give  good  satisfaction,  but  at  his  country’s  call 
He  dropped  his  position,  his  Algebra  and  all. 

“ Its  Oh,  I’m  going  to  leave  you,  kind  scholars,”  he  said — 
For  he  wrote  a composition  the  last  day  and  read; 

And  it  brought  many  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  school, 

To  say  nothing  of  his  sweet-heart  he  was  going  to  leave  so 
soon. 

u I have  many  recollections  to  take  with  me  away, 

Of  the  merry  transpirations  in  the  school-room  so  gay ; 
And  of  all  that’s  past  and  gone  I will  never  regret 
I went  to  serve  my  country  at  the  first  of  the  outset!” 

He  was  a good  penman,  and  the  lines  that  he  wrote 
On  that  sad  occasion  was  too  fine  for  me  to  quote, — 

For  I was  there  and  heard  it,  and  I ever  will  recall 
It  brought  the  happy  tears  to  the  eyes  of  us  all. 

And  when  he  left,  his  sweetheart  she  fainted  away, 

And  said  she  could  never  forget  the  sad  day 
When  her  lover  so  noble,  and  gallant  and  gay, 

Said  “ Fare  you  well,  my  true  love!”  and  went  marching, 
away. 


EZRA  HOUSE . 


135 


He  hadn't  been  gone  for  more  than  two  months 
When  the  sad  news  come — “ he  was  in  a skirmish  once, 
And  a cruel  rebel  ball  had  wounded  him  full  sore 
In  the  region  of  the  chin,  through  the  canteen  he  wore.” 


But  his  health  recruited  up,  and  his  wounds  they  got  well ; 
But  while  he  was  in  battle  at  Bull  Run  or  Malvern  Hill, 
The  news  come  again,  so  sorrowful  to  hear — 

“ A sliver  from  a bombshell  cut  off  his  right  ear,” 


136 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE . 


But  he  stuck  to  the  boys,  and  it’s  often  he  would  write, 
That  “ he  wasn’t  afraid  for  his  country  to  fight.” 

But  oh,  had  he  returned  on  a furlough,  I believe 
He  would  not,  today,  have  such  cause  to  grieve. 

For  in  another  battle — the  name  I never  heard — 

He  was  guarding  the  wagons  when  an  accident  occurred,— 
A comrade,  who  was  under  the  influence  of  drink, 

Shot  him  with  a musket  through  the  right  cheek,  I think. 

But  his  dear  life  was  spared,  but  it  hadn’t  been  for  long 
’Till  a cruel  rebel  colonel  came  riding  along, 

And  struck  him  with  his  sword,  as  many  do  suppose, 

For  his  cap-rim  was  cut  off,  and  also  his  nose. 

But  Providence,  who  watches  o’er  the  noble  and  the  brave, 
Snatched  him  once  more  from  the  jaws  of  the  grave  ; 

And  just  a little  while  before  the  close  of  the  war, 

He  sent  his  picture  home  to  his  girl  away  so  far. 

And  she  fell  into  decline,  and  she  wrote  in  reply, 

“ She  had  seen  his  face  again  and  was  ready  to  die;** 

And  she  wanted  him  to  promise,  when  she  was  in  her  tomb, 
He  would  only  visit  that  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

But  he  never  returned  at  the  close  of  the  war, 

And  the  boys  that  got  back  said  he  hadn’t  the  heart: 

But  he  got  a position  in  a powder-mill,  and  said 
He  hoped  to  meet  the  doom  that  his  country  denied. 


“01 1,  CotifS  Back!5’ 

pERSONAL — Will  the  young  woman  who  edited  the  gravy  department  and 
corrected  proof  at  our  pie  foundry  for  two  days  and  then  jumped  the 
game  on  the  evening  that  we  were  to  have  our  clergyman  to  dine  with  us, 
please  come  back,  or  write  to  32  Park  Row,  saying  where  she  left  the  crackers 
and  cheese  ? 


Come  back,  Wilhelmina,  and  be  our  little  sunbeam  once 
more.  Come  back  and  cluster  around  our  hearthstone  at 
so  much  per  cluster. 

If  you  think  best  we  will  quit  having  company  at  the 
house,  especially  people  who  do  not  belong  to  your  set. 

We  will  also  strive,  oh  so  hard,  to  make  it  pleasanter 
for  you  in  every  way.  If  we  had  known  four  or  five  years 
ago  that  children  were  offensive  to  you,  it  would  have  been 
different.  But  it  is  too  late  now.  All  we  can  do  is  to  shut 


them  up  in  a barn  and  feed  them  through  a knot-hole.  If 
they  shriek  loud  enough  to  give  pain  to  your  throbbing 
brow,  let  no  one  know  and  we  will  overcome  any  false  sen- 
timent we  may  feel  towards  them  and  send  them  to  the 
Tombs. 

Since  you  went  away  we  can  see  how  wicked  and 
selfish  we  were  and  how  little  we  considered  your  comfort. 
We  miss  your  glad  smile,  also  your  Tennessee  marble  cake 
and  your  slat  pie.  We  have  learned  a valuable  lesson 
since  you  went  away,  and  it  is  that  the  blame  should  not 
have  rested  on  one  alone.  It  should  have  been  divided 
equally,  leaving  me  .to  bear  half  of  it  and  my  wife  the 
other  half. 

Where  we  erred  was  in  dividing  up  the  blame  on  the 
basis  of  tenderloin  steak  or  peach  cobbler*  compelling  you 
to  bear  half  of  it  yourself.  That  will  not  work,  Wilhelmina. 
Blame  and  preserves  do  not  divide  on  the  same  basis.  We 
are  now  in  favor  of  what  may  be  called  a sliding  scale.  We 
think  you  will  like  this  better. 

We  also  made  a grave  mistake  in  the  matter  of  nights 
out.  While  young,  I formed  the  wicked  and  pernicious 
habit  of  having  nights  out  myself.  I panted  for  the  night 
air  and  would  go  a long  distance  and  stay  out  a long  time 
to  get  enough  of  it  for  a mess  and  then  bring  it  home  in  a 
paper  bag,  but  I can  see  now  that  it  is  time  for  me  to 
remain  indoors  and  give  young  people  like  yourself  a 
chance,  Wilhelmina. 

So,  if  I can  do  anything  evenings  while  you  are  out  that 
will  assist  you,  such  as  stoning  raisins  or  neighboring  win- 
dows command  me.  I am  no  cook,  of  course,  but  I can 
peel  apples  or  grind  coffee  or  hold  your  head  for  you  when 
you  need  sympathy.  I could  also  soon  learn  to  do  the 
plain  cooking,  I think,  and  friends  who  come  to  see  us  after 
this  have  agreed  to  bring  their  dinners. 

There  is  no  reason  why  harmony  should  not  be  restored 
among  us  and  the  old  sunlight  come  back  to  our  roof  tree. 


0/»,  IV1LHELM1NA  COME  BACK  ,< 


*3<* 


Another  thing  I wish  to  write  before  I close  this  humih 
iating  personal.  I wish  to  take  back  my  harsh  and  bitter 
words  about  your  singing.  I said  that  you  sang  like  a 
shingle-mill,  but  I was  mad  when  I said  it,  and  I wronged 
you.  I was  maddened  by  hunger  and  you  told  me  that 
mush  and  milk  was  the  proper  thing  for  a brain  worker, 
and  you  refused  to  give  me  any  dope  on  my  dumpling. 
Goaded  to  madness  by  this  I said  that  you  sang  like  a 
shingle-mill,  but  it  was  not  my  better,  higher  nature  that 
spoke.  It  was  my  grosser  and  more  gastric  nature  that 
asserted  itself,  and  I now  desire  to  take  it  back.  You 
do  not  sing  like  a shingle-mill;  at  least  so  much  as  to 
mislead  a practiced  ear. 

Your  voice  has  more  volume,  and  when  your  upper 
register  is  closed,  is  mellower  than  any  shingle-mill  I ever 
heard. 

Come  back,  Wilhemina.  We  need  you  every  hour. 

After  you  went  away  we  tried  to  set  the  bread  as  we 
had  seen  you  do  it,  but  it  was  not  a success.  The  next 
day  it  came  off  the  nest  with  a litter  of  small,  sallow  rolls 
which  would  easily  resist  the  action  of  acids. 

If  you  cannot  come  back  will  you  please  write  and  tell, 
me  how  you  are  getting  along  and  how  you  contrive'  to 
insert  air-holes  into  home-made  bread? 


’Twas  but  a hint  of  Spring 
— for  still 

The  atmosphere  was  sharp 
and  chill  — 

Save  where  the  genial  sun- 
shine smote 

The  shoulders  of  my  over- 
coat, 

And  o’er  the  snow  beneath 
my  feet 

Laid  spectral  fences  down 

the  street. 

My  shadow  even  seemed 
to  be 

Elate  with  some  new  buoy- 
ancy, 

And  bowed  and  bobbed  in 


my  advance 

With  trippingest  extravagance, 

And  when  a bird  sang  out  somewhere, 
It  seemed  to  wheel  with  me,  and  stare. 


A HINT  OF  SPRING 


Above  I heard  a rasping  stir  — 

And  on  the  roof  the  carpenter 
Was  perched,  and  prodding  rusty  leaves 
From  out  the  choked  and  dripping  eaves 
And  some  one,  hammering  about, 

Was  taking  all  the  windows  out. 

Old  scraps  of  shingles  fell  before 
The  noisy  mansion’s  open  door; 

And  wrangling  children  raked  the  yard, 
And  labored  much,  and  laughed  as  hard, 
And  fired  the  burning  trash  I smelt 
And  sniffed  again — so  good  I felt! 


‘Scurious-like,”  said  the  tree* 
toad, 

I’ve  twittered  fer  rain  all  day; 

And  I got  up  soon, 

And  hollered  till  noon — 

But  the  sun  hit  blazed  away, 

Till  I jest  dumb  down  in  a 
crawfish-hole, 

Weary  at  heart,  and  sick  at 
soul ! 


“ Dozed  away  fer  an  hour, 

And  I tackled  the  thing  agin ; 

And  I sung,  and  sung, 

Till  I knowed  my  lung 
Was  jest  about  give  in; 

And  then,  thinks  I,  ef  it  don’t  rain  now, 
There  ’re  nothin’  in  singin*  anyhow! 

“ Once  in  a while  some  farmer 
Would  come  a driven’  past ; 

And  he’d  hear  my  cry, 

And  stop  and  sigh — 

Till  I jest  laid  back,  at  last, 

And  I hollered  rain  till  I thought  my  throat 
Would  bust  wide  open  at  ever*  note! 


A TREAT  ODE. 


“But  I fetched  her! — O I fetched  her!— 
’Cause  a little  while  ago, 

As  I kindo*  set 
With  one  eye  shet, 

And  a-singin*  soft  and  low, 

A voice  drapped  down  on  my  fevered  brain 
Sayin’, — * Ef  you’ll  jest  hush  I’ll  rain! *” 


“Oar  Wife.” 

story  opens  U 
1877,  when,  on  an 
April  morning,  the  yel- 
low-haired  “devil” 
arrived  at  the  office  of 
the  Jack  Creek  Pizen - 
weed,  at  7 o’clock,  and 
found  the  editor  in.  It 
was  so  unusual  to  find 
the  editor  in  at  that 
hour  that  the  boy 
whistled  in  a low  con- 
tralto  voice,  and 
passed  on  into  the 
“ news  room,”  leaving 
the  gentlemanly,  gen- 
ial and  urbane  editor  of  the  Pizenweed  as  he  had  found  him, 
sitting  in  his  foundered  chair,  with  his  head  immersed  in  a 
pile  of  exchanges  on  the  table  and  his  venerable  Smith  & 
Wesson  near  by,  acting  as  a paper-weight.  The  gentle- 
manly, genial  and  urbane  editor  of  the  Pizenweed  presented 
the  appearence  of  a man  engaged  in  sleeping  off  a long  and 
aggravated  case  of  drunk.  His  hat  was  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  and  his  features  were  entirely  obscured  by  the  loose 
papers  in  which  they  nestled. 

Later  on,  Elijah  P.  Beckwith,  the  foreman,  came  in,  and 
found  the  following  copy  on  the  hook,  marked  “Leaded 


Editorial,”  and  divided  it  up  into  “ takes  '*  for  the  yellow- 
haired devil  and  himself: 

“ In  another  column  of  this  issue  will  be  found,  among 
the  legal  notices,  the  first  publication  of  a summons  in  an 
action  for  divorce,  in  which  our  wife  is  plaintiff  and  we  are 
made  defendant.  While  generally  deprecating  the  practice 
of  bringing  private  matters  into  public  through  the  medium 
of  the  press,  we  feel  justified  in  this  instance,  inasmuch  as 
the  summons  sets  forth,  as  a cause  of  action,  that  we  are, 
and  have  been,  for  the  space  of  ten  years,  a confirmed 
drunkard  without  hope  of  recovery,  and  totally  unwilling  to 
provide  for  and  maintain  our  said  wife. 

“ That  we  have  been  given  to  drink,  we  do  not,  at  this 
time,  undertake  to  deny  or  in  any  way  controvert,  but  that 
we  can  not  quit  at  any  time,  we  do  most  earnestly  contend. 

“In  1867,  on  the  4th  day  of  July,  we  married  our  wife. 
It  was  a joyful  day,  and  earth  had  never  looked  to  us  so 
fair  or  so  desirable  as  a summer  resort  as  it  did  that  day. 
The  flowers  bloomed,  the  air  was  fresh  and  exhilarating,  the 
little  birds  and  the  hens  poured  forth  their  respective  lays. 
It  was  a day  long  to  be  remembered,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  we  had  never  seen  Nature  get  up  and  hump  herself 
to  be  so  attractive  as  she  did  on  this  special  morning — the 
morning  of  all  mornings — the  morning  on  which  we  married 
our  wife. 

“ Little  did  we  then  dream  that  after  ten  years  of  vary- 
ing fortune  we  would  to-day  give  utterance  to  this  editorial, 
or  that  the  steam  power-press  of  the  Pizenweed  would  squat 
this  legal  notice  for  divorce,  a vinculo  et  thoro , into  the 
virgin  page  of  our  paper.  But  such  is  the  case.  Our  wife 
has  abandoned  us  to  our  fate,  and  has  seen  fit  to  publish  the 
notice  in  what  we  believe  to  be  the  spiciest  paper  published 
west  of  the  Missouri  river.  It  was  not  necessary  that  the 
notice  should  be  published.  We  were  ready  at  any  time  to 
admit  service,  provided  that  plaintiff  would  serve  it  while 


we  were  sober.  We  can  not  agree  to  remain  sober  after  ten 
o'clock  a.  m.  in  order  to  give  people  a chance  to  serve  notices 
on  us.  But  in  this  case  plaintiff  knew  the  value  of  adver- 
tising, and  she  selected  a paper  that  goes  to  the  better 
classes  a-1  over  the  Union.  When  our  wife  does  anything 
she  does  it  right. 

“For  ten  years  our  wife  and  we  have  trudged  along  to- 
gether. It  has  been  a record  of  errors  and  failures  on  our 
part;  a record  of  heroic  devotion  and  forbearance  on  the 
part  of  our  wife.  It  is  over  now,  and  with  nothing  to  re- 
member that  is  not  soaked  full  of  bitterness  and  wrapped 
up  in  red  flannel  remorse,  we  go  forth  to-day  and  herald 
our  shame  by  publishing  to  the  world  the  fact,  that  as 
husband,  we  are  a depressing  failure,  while  as  a red-eyed 
and  a rum-soaked  ruin  and  all-round  drunkard,  we  are  a 
tropical  triumph.  We  print  this  without  egotism,  and  we 
point  to  it  absolutely  without  vain  glory. 

“Ah,  why  were  we  made  the  custodian  of  this  fatal  gift, 
while  others  were  denied  ? It  was  about  the  only  talent  we 
had,  but  we  have  not  wrapped  it  up  in  a napkin.  Some- 
times we  have  put  a cold,  wet  towel  on  it,  but  we  have 
never  hidden  it  under  a bushel.  We  have  put  it  out  at 
three  per  cent  a month,  and  it  has  grown  to  be  a thirst  that 
is  worth  coming  all  the  way  from  Omaha  to  see.  * We  do 
not  gloat  over  it.  We  do  not  say  all  this  to  the  disparage- 
ment of  other  bright,  young  drinkers,  who  came  here  at  the 
same  time,  and  who  had  equal  advantages  with  us.  We  do 
not  wish  to  speak  lightly  of  those  whose  prospects  for  fill- 
ing a drunkard’s  grave  were  at  one  time  even  brighter  than 
ours.  We  have  simply  sought  to  hold  our  position  here  in 
the  grandest  galaxy  of  extemporaneous  inebriates  in  the 
wild  and  woolly  West.  We  do  not  wish  to  vaunt  our  own 
prowess,  but  we  say,  without  fear  of  successful  contradict 
tion,  that  we  have  done  what  we  could. 

“On  the  fourth  page  of  this  number  will  be  found, 


among  other  announcements,  the  advertisement  of  our  wife 
who  is  about  to  open  up  the  old  laundry  at  the  corner  of 
Third  and  Cottonwood  streets,  in  the  Briggs  building.  We 
hope  that  our  citizens  will  accord  her  a generous  patronage, 
not  so  much  on  her  husband’s  account,  but  because  she  is 
a deserving  woman,  and  a good  laundress.  We  wish  that 
we  could  as  safely  recommend  every  advertiser  who  patron- 
izes these  columns  as  we  can  our  wife. 

“Unkind  critics  will  make  cold  and  unfeeling  remarks 
because  our  wife  has  decided  to  take  in  washing,  and  they 
will  look  down  on  her,  no  doubt,  but  she  will  not  mind  it, 
for  it  will  be  a pleasing  relaxation  to  wash,  after  the  ten 
years  of  torch-light  procession  and  Mardi  Gras  frolic  she 
has  had  with  us.  It  is  tiresome,  of  course,  to  chase  a pil- 
low case  up  and  down  the  wash-board  all  day,  but  it  is 
easier  and  pleasanter  than  it  is  to  run  a one-horse  Inebriate 
Home  for  ten  years  on  credit. 

“Tnose  who  have  read  the  Pizenweed  for  the  past  three 
years  will  remember  that  it  has  not  been  regarded  as  an 
outspoken  temperance  organ.  We  have  never  claimed  that 
for  it.  We  have  simply  claimed  that,  so  far  as  we  are  per- 
sonally concerned,  we  could  take  liquor  or  we  could  let  it 
alone.  That  has  always  been  our  theory.  We  still  make 
that  claim.  Others  have  said  the  same  thing,  but  were  un- 
able to  do  as  they  advertised.  We  have  been  taking  it 
right  along,  between  meals  for  ten  years.  We  now  propose, 
and  so  state  in  the  prospectus,  that  we  will  let  it  alone. 
We  leave  the  public  to  judge  whether  or  not  we  can  do 
what  we  claim.” 

After  the  foreman  had  set  up  the  above  editorial,  he 
went  in  to  speak  to  the  editor,  but  he  was  still  slumbering. 
He  shook  him  mildly,  but  he  did  not  wake.  Then  Elijah 
took  him  by  the  collar  and  lifted  him  up  so  that  he  could 
see  the  editor’s  face. 

It  was  a pale,  still  face,  firm  in  its  new  resolution  to  for* 


148 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE . 


ever  “let  it  alone.”  On  the  temple  and  under  the  heavy 
sweep  of  brown  hair  there  was  a powder-burned  spot  and 
the  cruel  affidavit  of  the  “Smith  and  Wesson”  that  our  wife 
had  obtained  her  decree. 


The  editor  of  the  Pizenweed  had  demonstrated  that  he 
could  drink  or  he  could  let  it  alone 


N\y  Bachelor  Clltitif. 


O a corpulent  man  is  my 
bachelor  chum, 

With  a neck  apoplectic  and 
thick, 

And  an  abdomen  on  him  as 
big  as  a drum, 

And  a fist  big  enongh  for 
the  stick; 

With  a walk  that  for  grace  is 
clear  out  of  the  case, 

And  a wobble  uncertain — 
as  though 

His  little  bow-legs  had  for- 
gotten the  pace 
That  in  youth  used  to  favor 
him  so. 


^ He  is  forty,  at  least;  and  the 
' *ri==s='  top  of  his  head 

^ Is  a bald  and  a glittering 

thing; 

And  his  nose  and  his  two  chubby  cheeks  are  a*  red 
As  three  rival  roses  in  spring. 

His  mouth  is  a grin  with  the  corners  tucked  in, 

And  his  laugh  is  so  breezy  and  bright 
That  it  ripples  his  features  and  dimples  his  chin 
With  a billowy  look  of  delight. 


ISO  NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE . 

He  is  fond  of  declaring  he  “don’t  care  a straw” — 
That  “the  ills  of  a bachelor’s  life 
Are  blisses  compared  with  a mother-in-law, 

And  a boarding-school  miss  for  a wife!” 

So  he  smokes,  and  he  drinks,  and  he  jokes  and  he  winks 
And  he  dines,  and  he  wines  all  alone, 

With  a thumb  ever  ready  to  snap  as  he  thinks 
Of  the  comforts  he  never  has  known. 


But  up  in  his  den — (Ah  my  bachelor  chum!) 

I have  sat  with  him  there  in  the  gloom. 

When  the  laugh  of  his  lips  died  away  to  become 
But  a phantom  of  mirth  in  the  room! 

And  to  look  on  him  there  you  would  love  him,  for  all 
His  ridiculous  ways,  and  be  dumb 
As  the  little  girl-face  that  smiles  down  from  the  wall 
On  the  tears  of  my  bachelor  chum. 


Ttie  PlfilantliropiGal  Jay. 

It  had  been  ten  long  weary  years  since  I last  met  Jay 
Gould  until  I called  upon  him  yesterday  to  renew  the 
acquaintance  and  discuss  the  happy  past.  Ten  years  of 
patient  toil  and  earnest  endeavor  on  my  part,  ten  years  of 
phiiantnroov  on  his,  have  been  filed  away  in  the  grim  and 
greedy  Heretofore.  Both  of  us  have  changed  in  that  time, 
though  Jay  has  changed  .wore  than  I have.  Perhaps  that 
is  because  he  has  been  thrown  more  in  contact  with  change 
than  I nave. 

Still.  1 had  changed  a erood  deal  in  those  years,  for  when 
I called  at  Irvington  yesterday  Mr.  Gould  did  not  remember 
me.  Neither  did  the  watchful  but  overestimated  dog  in  the 
front  yard.  Mr.  Gould  lives  in  comfort,  in  a cheery  home, 
surrounded  by  hired  helo  ani  a barbed-wire  fence. 

By  wearing  ready-made  clothes,  instead  of  having  his 
clothing  made  especially  for  himself,  he  has  been  enabled 
to  amass  a good  many  millions  of  dollars  with  which  he  is 
enabled  to  buy  things. 

Carefully  concealing  the  fact  that  I had  any  business 
relations  with  the  press,  I gave  my  card  to  the  person  who 
does  chores  for  Mr.  Gould,  and,  apologizing  for  not  having 
dropped  in  before.  I took  a seat  in  the  spare  room  to  wait 
for  the  great  railroad  magnate. 

Mr.  Gould  entered  the  room  with  a low,  stealthy  tread, 
and  iooKed  me  over  in  a cursory  way  and  yet  with  the  air  of 
a connoisseur. 

“I  believe  that  I have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
you  betore,  sir,”  said  the  great  railroad  swallower  and  ama- 
teur Philanthropist  with  a tinge  of  railroad  irony 


“Yes,  sir,  we  met  some  ter  veaic  ago,"'  said  I,  lightly 
running  my  finger?  ovei  jae  Keys  of  the  piano  in  order  to 
show  aim  taat  I was  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  a piano.  “ I 
wa?  men  working  in  the  rolling  mill  at  Laramie  City,  Wyo., 
and  you  came  to  visit  the  mill,  which  was  then  operated  by 
the  Union  Pacific  Railroad  Company.  You  do  not  remem- 
ber me  because  I have  purchased  a different  pair  of  trousers 
since  I saw  you,  and  the  cane  which  I wear  this  season 


changes  my  whole  appearance  also.  I remember  you,  how- 
ever, very  much.” 

“Well,  if  we  grant  all  that,  Mr.  Nye,  will  you  excuse  me 
for  asking  you  to  what  I am  indebted  for  this  call?” 

“Well,  Mr.  Gould,”  said  I,  rising  to  my  full  height  and 
putting  my  soft  hat  on  the  brow  of  the  Venus  de  Milo,  after 
which  I seated  myself  opposite  him  in  a degage  Western  way, 
“you  are  indebted  to  me  for  this  call.  That’s  what  you’re 
indebted  to.  But  we  will  let  that  pass.  We  are  not  here 
to  talk  about  indebtedness,  Jay.  If  you  are  busy  you 


7 HE  PHILANTHROPICAL  JAY. 


*53 


needn't  return  this  call  till  next  winter.  But  I am  here  just 
to  converse  in  a quiet  way,  as  between  man  and  man;  to 
talk  over  the  past,  to  ask  you  how  your  conduct  is  and  to 
inqu;re  ;f  I can  do  you  any  good  in  any  way  whatever.  This 


is  no  time  to  speak  pieces  and  ask  in  a grammatical  way* 
‘To  what  you  are  indebted  for  this  call.’  My  main  object 
in  coming  up  here  was  to  take  you  by  the  hand  and  ask  you 
how  your  memory  is  this  spring?  Judging  from  what  I 
could  hear,  I was  led  to  believe  that  it  was  a little  inclined 


to  be  sluggish  and  atrophied  days  and  to  keep  you  awake 
nights.  Is  that  so,  Jay?1” 

“No,  sir;  that  is  not  so.” 

“Very  well,  then  I have  been  misled  by  the  reports  in 
the  papers,  and  I am  glad  it  is  all  a mistake.  Now,  one 
thing  more  before  I go.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  na  while 
you  and  your  family  are  all  out  in  your  yacht  togetner  some 
day,  a sudden  squall,  a quick  lurch  of  the  lee  scuppers,  a 
tremulous  movement  of  the  main  brace,  a shudder  of  the 
spring  boom  might  occur  and  all  be  over  ? 

“Yes,  sir.  I have  often  thought  of  it,  and  of  course 
such  a thing  might  happen  at  any  time  but  you  forget  that 
while  we  are  out  on  the  broad  anc  boundless  ocean  we 
enjoy  ourselves.  We  are  free.  People  with  morbid  curi- 
osity cannot  come  and  call  on  us.  We  cannot  get  the  daily 
newspapers,  and  we  do  not  have,  to  meet  low,  vulgar  people 
who  pay  their  debts  and  perspire.” 

“Of  course,  that  is  one  -Tew  to  take  of  it;  but  that  is 
only  a selfish  view.  Supposing  that  you  have  made  no  pro- 
vision for  the  future  in  ^ase  of  accident,  would  it  not  be 
•well  for  you  to  name  some  one  outside  of  your  own  family 
to  take  up  this  great  burden  which  is  now  weighing  you 
down  — this  monev  v nich  you  say  yourself  has  made  a 
slave  of  you  — and  ook  out  for  it  ? Have  you  ever  consid- 
ered this  matter  seriously  and  settled  upon  a good  man  who 
would  be  willing  to  water  your  stock  for  you,  and  so  conduct 
your  affairs  that  nobody  would  get  any  benefit  from  your 
vast  accumulations,  and  in  every  way  carry  out  the  policy 
which  you  have  inaugurated? 

“ If  you  have  not  thoroughly  considered  this  matter  I 
wish  that  you  would  do  so  at  an  early  date.  I have  in  my 
mind’s  eye  just  such  a man  as  you  need.  His  shoulders 
are  well  fitted  for  a burden  of  this  kind,  and  he  would  pick 
it  up  cheerfully  at  any  time  you  see  fit  to  lay  it  down. 
I will  give  you  his  address.” 


THE  PH ILA  NT HR  O PI  CAL  JAY . 


155 


“Thank  you,*  said  Mr.  Gould,  as  the  thermometer  in 
the  'next  room  suddenly  froze  up  and  burst  with  a loud 
report.  “ And  now,  if  you  will  excuse  me  from  offsetting 
my  time,  which  is  worth  $500  a minute,  against  yours, 
which  I judge  to  be  worth  about  $1  per  week,  I will  bid 
you  good  morning.” 

He  then  held  the  door  open  for  me,  and  shortly  after 
that  I came  away.  There  were  three  reasons  why  I did 
not  remain,  but  the  principal  reason  was  that  I did  not 
think  he  wanted  me  to  do  so. 

And  so  I came  away  and  left  him.  There  was  little  else 
that  I could  say  after  that. 

It  is  not  the  first  time  that  a Western  man  has  been 
treated  with  consideration  in  his  own  section,  only  to  be 
frowned  upon  and  frozen  when  he  meets  the  same  man  in 
New  York. 

Mr.  Gould  is  below  the  medium  height,  and  is  likely  to 
remain  so  through  life.  His  countenance  wears  a crafty 
expression,  and  yet  he  allowed  himself  to.be  April-fooled 
by  a genial  little  party  of  gentlemen  from  Boston,  who 
salted  the  Central  Branch  of  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad  by 
holding  back  all  the  freight  for  two  weeks  in  order  to  have 
it  on  the  road  while  Jay  was  examining  the  property. 

Jay  Gould  would  attract  very  little  attention  here  on  the 
streets,  but  he  would  certainly  be  looked  upon  with  sus- 
picion in  Paradise.  A man  who  would  fail  to  remember 
that  he  had  $7,000,000  that  belonged  to  the  Erie  road,  but 
who  does  not  forget  to  remember  whenever  he  paid  his  own 
hotel  bills  at  Washington,  is  the  kind  of  man  who  would 
pull  up  and  pawn  the  pavements  of  Paradise  within  thirty 
days  after  he  got  there. 

After  looking  over  the  above  statement  carefully,  I feel 
called  upon,  in  justice  to  myself,  to  state  that  Dr.  Bur- 
chard  did  not  assist  me  in  constructing  the  last  sentence. 


156 


NYE  AND  RILEY’S  RAILWAY  GUIDE . 


For  those  boys  who  wish  to  emulate  the  example  of  Jay 
Gould,  the  example  of  Jay  Gould  is  a good  example  for 
them  to  emulate. 


If  any  little  boy  in  New  York  on  this  beautiful  Sabbath 
morning  desires  to  jeopardize  his  immortal  soul  in  order  to 
be  beyond  the  reach  of  want,  and  ride  gayly  over  the 
sunlit  billows  where  the  cruel  fangs  of  the  Excise  law  can- 
not reach  him,  let  him  cultivate  a lop-sided  memory,  swap 
friends  for  funds  and  wise  counsel  for  crooked  consols. 

If  I had  thought  of  all  this  as  I came  down  the  front 
steps  at  Irvington  the  other  day,  I would  have  said  it  to  Mr. 
Gould;  but  I did  not  think  of  it  until  I got  home.  A man’s 
best  thoughts  frequently  come  to  him  too  late  for  publication. 


THE  PHILANTHROPICAL  JAY. 


157 


But  the  name  of  Jay  Gould  will  not  go  down  to  future 
generations  linked  with  those  of  Howard  and  Wilberforce. 
It  will  not  go  very  far  any  way.  In  this  age  of  millionaires, 
a millionaire  more  or  less  does  not  count  very  much,  and 
only  the  good  millionaires  who  baptize  and  beautify  their 
wealth  in  the  eternal  sunlight  of  unselfishness  will  have  any 
claim  on  immortality. 

In  this  period  of  progress  and  high-grade  civilization, 
when  Satan  takes  humanity  up  to  the  top  of  a high  mountain 
and  shows  his  railroads  and  his  kerosene  oil  and  his  distil- 
leries and  his  coffers  filled  with  pure  leaf  lard,  and  says : 
“ All  this  will  I give  for  a seat  in  the  Senate,”  a common 
millionaire  with  no  originality  of  design  does  not  excite  any 
more  curiosity  on  Broadway  than  a young  man  who  is  led 
about  by  a little  ecru  dog. 

I do  not  wish  to  crush  capital  with  labor,  or  to  further 
intensify  the  feeling  which  already  exists  between  the  vwo, 
for  I am  a land-holder  and  taxpayer  myself,  but  I say  u:at 
the  man  who  never  mixes  up  with  the  common  people  unless 
he  is  summoned  to  explain  something  and  shake  the  moths 
out  of  his  memory  will  some  day,  when  the  grass  grows 
green  over  his  own  grave,  find  himself  confronted  by  the 
same  kind  of  a memory  on  the  part  of  mankind. 

I do  not  say  all  this  because  I was  treated  in  an  off-hand 
manner  by  Mr.  Gould,  but  because  I think  it  ought  to  be 
said. 

As  I said  before,  Jay  Gould  is  considerably  below  the 
medium  height  and  I am  not  going  to  take  it  back. 

He  is  a man  who  will  some  day  sit  out  on  the  corner  of  a 
new-laid  planet  with  his  little  pink  railroad  maps  on  his 
knees,  and  ask  “Where  am  I ?”  and  the  echoes  from  every 
musty  corner  of  miasmatic  oblivion  will  take  up  the  question 
and  refer  it  to  the  judiciary  committee  ; but  it  will  curl  up 
and  die  like  the  minority  report  against  a big  railroad  land 
grant. 


HEN  snow  is  here,  and  the 
trees  look  weird, 

And  the  knuckled  twigs  are 
gloved  with  frost; 

When  the  breath  congeals  in 
the  drover’s  beard, 

And  the  old  pathway  to  the 
barn  is  lost: 


When  the  rooster’s  crow  is  sad  to  hear, 

And  the  stamp  of  the  stabled  horse  is  vain, 
And  the  tone  of  the  cow-bell  grieves  the  ear — 
O then  is  the  time  for  a brave  refrain ! 


When  the  gears  hang  stiff  on  the  harness-peg, 
And  the  tallow  gleams  in  frozen  streaks; 


And  the  old  hen  stands  on  a lonesome  leg, 

And  the  pump  sounds  hoarse  and  the  handle  squeaks; 
When  the  woodpile  lies  in  a shrouded  heap, 

And  the  frost  is  scratched  from  the  window-pane, 

And  anxious  eyes  from  the  inside  peep — 

O then  is  the  time  for  a brave  refrain! 

When  the  ax-helve  warms  at  the  chimney-jamb! 

• And  hob-nailed  boots  on  the  hearth  below, 

And  the  house  cat  curls  in  a slumber  calm, 

And  the  eight-day  clock  ticks  loud  and  slow; 

When  the  harsh  broom-handle  jabs  the  ceil 
*Neath  the  kitchen-loft,  and  the  drowsy  brain 
Sniffs  the  breath  of  the  morning  meal — 

O then  is  the  time  for  a brave  refrain! 

’Envoi. 

When  the  skillet  seethes,  and  a blubbering  hot 
Tilts  the  lid  of  the  coffee-pot, 

And  the  scent  of  the  buckwheat  cake  grows  plain* 

O then  is  the  time  for  a brave  refrain! 


A Blasted  Srjore* 

Sleep,  under  favorable  circumstances,  is  a great  be  in. 
Sleep,  if  natural  and  undisturbed,  is  surely  as  useful  as  any 
other  scientific  discovery.  Sleep,  whether  administered  at 
home  or  abroad,  under  the  soporific  influences  of  an  under- 
paid preacher  or  the  unyielding  wooden  cellar  door  that  is 
used  as  a blanket  in  the  sleeping  car,  is  a harmless  dissi- 
pation and  a cheerful  relaxation. 

Let  me  study  a man  for  the  first  hour  after  he  has  wakened 
and  I will  judge  him  more  correctly  than  I would  to  watch 
him  all  winter  in  the  Legislature.  We  think  we  are  pretty 
well  acquainted  with  our  friends,  but  we  are  not  thoroughly 
conversant  with  their  peculiarities  until  we  have  seen  them 
wake  up  in  the  morning. 

1 have  often  looked  at  the  men  I meet  and  thought  what 
a shock  it  must  be  to  the  wives  of  some  of  them  to  wake  up 
and  see  their  husbands  before  they  have  had  time  to  pre- 
pare, and  while  their  minds  are  still  chaotic. 

The  first  glimpse  of  a large,  fat  man,  whose  brain  has 
drooped  down  behind  his  ears,  and  whose  wheezy  breath 
wanders  around  through  the  catacombs  of  his  head  and 
then  emerges  from  his  nostrils  with  a shrill  snort  like  the 
yelp  of  the  damned,  must  be  a charming  picture  for  the  eye 
of  a delicate  and  beautiful  second  wife;  one  who  loves  to 
look  on  green  meadows  and  glorious  landscapes;  one  who 
has  always  wakened  with  a song  and  a ripple  of  laughter 
that  fell  on  her  father’s  heart  like  a shower  of  sunshine  in 
the  sombre  green  of  the  valley. 

It  is  a pet  theory  of  mine  that  to  be  pleasantly  wakened 
is  half  the  battle  for  the  day.  If  we  could  be  wakened  by 


the  refrain  of  a joyous  song,  instead  of  having  our  front 
teeth  knocked  out  by  one  of  those  patent  pillow-sham  hold- 
ers that  sit  up  on  their  hind  feet  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  until 
we  dream  that  we  are  just  about  to  enter  Paradise  and  have 
just  passed  our  competitive  examination,  and  which  then 
swoop  down  and  mash  us  across  the  bridge  of  the  nose, 
there  would  be  less  insanity  in  our  land  and  death  would  be 
regarded  more  in  the  light  of  a calamity. 

When  you  waken  a child  do  it  in  a pleasant  way.  Do 
not  take  him  by  the  ear  and  pull  him  out  of  bed.  It  is  dis- 
agreeable for  the  child,  and  injures  the  general  tout  ensembh 
of  the  ear.  Where  children  go  to  sleep  with  tears  on  their 
cheeks  and  are  wakened  by  the  yowl  of  dyspeptic  parents, 
tney  have  a pretty  good  excuse  for  crime  in  after  years.  If 
I sat  on  the  bench  in  such  cases  I would  mitigate  the  sen- 
tence. 

It  is  a genuine  pleasure  for  me  to  wake  up  a good-natured 
child  in  a good-natured  way.  Surely  it  is  better  from  those 
dimpled  lids  to  chase  the  sleep  with  a caress  than  to  knock 
out  slumber  with  a harsh  word  and  a bed  slat. 

No  one  should  be  suddenly  wakened  from  a sound  sleep. 
A sudden  awaking  reverses  the  magnetic  currents,  and 
makes  the  hair  pull,  to  borrow  an  expression  from  Dante. 
The  awaking  should  be  natural,  gradual,  and  deliberate. 

A sad  thing  occurred  last  summer  on  an  Omaha  train. 
It  was  a very  warm  day,  and  in  the  smoking-car  a fat  man, 
with  a magenta  fringe  of  whiskers  over  his  Adam’s  apple, 
and  a light,  ecru  lambrequin  of  real  camel’s  hair  around  the 
suburbs  of  his  head,  might  have  been  discovered. 

He  could  have  opened  his  mouth  wider,  perhaps,  but 
not  without  injuring  the  mainspring  of  his  neck  and  turning 
his  epiglottis  out  of  doors. 

He  was  asleep. 

He  was  not  only  slumbering,  but  he  was  putting  the 
earnestness  and  passionate  devotion  of  his  whole  being  into 


102  NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 

it.  His  shiny,  oilcloth  grip,  with  the  roguish  tip  of  a dis 
carded  collar  just  peeping  out  at  the  side,  was  up  in  the 
iron  wall-pocket  of  the  car.  He  also  had,  in  the  seat  with 
him,  a market  basket  full  of  misfit  lunch  and  a two-bushel 
bag  containing  extra  apparel.  On  the  floor  he  had  a crock 
of  butter  with  a copy  of  the  Punkville  Palladium  and  Stock 
Grower's  Guardian  over  the  top. 

He  slumbered  on  in  a rambling  sort  of  a way,  snoring 
all  the  time  in  monosyllables,  except  when  he  erroneously 
swallowed  his  tonsils,  and  then  he  would  struggle  awhile 
and  get  black  in  the  face,  while  the  passengers  vainly  hoped 
that  he  had  strangled. 

While  he  was  thus  slumbering,  with  all  the  eloquence 
and  enthusiasm  of  a man  in  the  full  meridian  of  life,  the 
train  stopped  with  a lurch,  and  the  brakeman  touched  his 
shoulder. 

“Here's  your  town,” he  said.  “We  only  stop  a minute. 
You’ll  have  to  hustle.” 

The  man,  who  had  been  far  away,  wrestling  with  Mor- 
pheus, had  removed  his  hat,  coat,  and  boots,  and  when  he 
awoke  his  feet  absolutely  refused  to  go  back  into  the  same 
quarters. 

At  first  he  looked  around  reproachfully  at  the  people  in 
the  car.  Then  he  reached  up  and  got  his  oilcloth  grip  from 
the  bracket.  The  bag  was  tied  together  with  a string,  and 
as  he  took  it  down  the  string  untied.  Then  we  all  discov- 
ered that  this  man  had  been  on  the  road  for  a long  time, 
with  no  object,  apparently,  except  to  evade  laundries.  All 
kinds  of  articles  fell  out  in  the  aisle.  I remember  seeing  a 
chest-protector  and  a linen  coat,  a slab  of  seal-brown  ginger- 
bread and  a pair  of  stoga  boots,  a hairbrush  and  a bologna 
sausage,  a plug  of  tobacco  and  a porous  plaster. 

He  gathered  up  what  he  conld  in  both  arms,  made  two 
trips  to  the  door  and  threw  out  all  he  could,  tried  again  to  put 


his  number  eleven  feet  into  his  number  nine  boots,  gave  it 
up,  and  socked  himself  out  of  the  car  as  it  began  to  move, 
while  the  brakeman  bombarded  him  through  the  window  for 
two  miles  with  personal  property,  groceries,  dry-goods,  boots 


and  shoes,  gents’  furnishing  goods,  hardware,  notions,  bric- 
a-brac,  red  herrings,  clothing,  doughnuts,  vinegar  bitters, 
and  facetious  remarks. 


Then  he  picked  up  the  retired  snorer’s  railroad  check 
from  the  seat,  and  I heard  him  say:  “Why,  dog  on  it,  that 
wasn’t  his  town  after  all.” 


Good-bye  er  Ffowdy-Do, 


Say  good-bye  er  howdy-do  — 

What’s  the  odds  betwixt  the  two? 
Cornin’ — goin’ — -every  day  — 

Best  friends  first  to  go  away  — 
Grasp  of  hands  you  druther  hold 
Than  their  weight  in  solid  gold, 
Slips  their  grip  while  greetin’  you.—* 
Say  good-bye  er  howdy-do  ? 


Howdy-do,  and  then,  good-bye  — 
Mixes  jest  like  laugh  and  cry; 

Deaths  and  births,  and  worst  and  best 
Tangled  their  contrariest; 

Ev’ry  jinglin’  weddin’-bell 
Skeearin’  up  some  funeral  knell. — 
Here’s  my  song,  and  there’s  your  sigh : 
Howdy-do,  and  then,  good-bye ! 

Say  good-bye  er  howdy-do  — 

Jest  the  same  to  me  and  you ; 

’Taint  worth  while  to  make  no  fuss, 
’Cause  the  job’s  put  up  on  us ! 

Some  one’s  runnin*  this  concern 
That’s  got  nothin*  else  to  learn  — 

If  he’s  willin’,  we’ll  pull  through. 

Say  good-bye  or  howdy-do ! 


The  following  constitute  the  items  of  great  interest  occur- 
ring on  the  East  Side  among  the  colored  people  of  Blue 
Ruin: 

Montmorency  Tousley  of  Pizen  Ivy  avenue  cut  his  foot 
badly  last  week  while  chopping  wood  for  a party  on  Willow 
street.  He  has  been  warned  time  and  again  not  to  chop 
wood  when  the  sign  was  not  right,  but  he  would  not  listen 
to  his  friends.  He  not  only  cut  off  enough  of  his  foot  to 
weigh  three  or  four  pounds,  but  completely  gutted  the  coffee 
sack  in  which  his  foot  was  done  up  at  the  time.  It  will  be 
some  time  before  he  can  radiate  around  among  the  boys  on 
Pizen  avenue  again. 

Plum  Beasley’s  house  caught  on  fire  last  Tuesday  night. 
He  reckons  it  was  caused  by  a defective  flue,  for  the  fire 
caught  in  the  north  wing.  This  is  one  of  Plum’s  bon  mots, 
nowever.  He  tries  to  make  light  of  it,  but  the  wood  he  has 
been  using  all  winter  was  white  birch,  and  when  he  got  a 
big  dose  of  hickory  at  the  same  place  last  week  it  was  so 
dark  that  he  didn’t  notice  the  difference  and  before  he  knew 


SOCIETY  GURGS  FROM  SANDY  MUSH. 


167 


it  he  had  a bigger  fire  than  he  had  allowed.  In  the  midst 
of  a pleasant  flow  of  conversation  gas  collected  in  the  wood 
and  caused  an  explosion  vhich.  threw  a passel  of  live  coals 
on  the  bed.  The  house  was  soon  a solid  mass  of  flame. 
Mr.  Beasley  is  still  short  two  children. 

Mr.  Granulation  Hicks,  of  Boston,  Mass.,  who  has  won 
deserved  distinction  in  advancing  the  interests  of  Sir 
George  Pullman,  ol  Chicago,  is  here  visiting  his  parents, 
who  reside  on  Upper  Hominy.  We  are  glad  to  see  Mr. 
Hicks  and  hope  he  may  live  long  to  visit  Blue  Ruin  and 
propitiate  up  and  down  our  streets. 

Miss  Roseola  Cardiman  has  just  been  the  recipient  of 
a beautiful  pair  of  chaste  ear-bobs  from  her  brother,  who 
is  a night  watchman  in  a jewelry  store  run  by  a man  named 
Tiffany  in  New  York.  Roseola  claims  that  Tiffany  makes 
a right  smart  of  her  brother,  and  sets  a heap  by  him. 

Whooping-cough  and  horse  distemper  are  again  making 
fearful  havoc  among  the  better  classes  at  the  foot  of  Pizen 
Ivy  avenue. 

We  are  pained  to  learn  that  the  free  reading  room, 
established  over  Amalgamation  Brown’s  store,  has  been 
closed  up  by  tl_a  police.  Blue  Ruin  has  clamored  for  a 
free  temperance  reading  room  and  brain  retort  for  ten  years, 
and  now  a ruction  between  two  of  our  best  known  citizens, 
over  the  relative  merits  of  a natural  pair  and  a doctored 
flush,  has  called  down  the  vengeance  of  the  authorities,  and 
shut  up  what  was  a credit  to  the  place  and  a quiet  resort, 
where  young  men  could  come  night  after  night  and  kind  of 
complicate  themselves  at.  There  are  two  or  three  men  in 
this  place  that  will  bully  or  bust  everything  they  can  get 
into,  and  they  have  perforated  more  outrages  on  Blue  Ruin 
than  we  are  entitled  to  put  up  with. 

There  was  a successful  doings  at  the  creek  last  Sabbath, 
during  which  baptism  was  administered  to  four  grown 


l68 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE- 


people  and  a dude  from  Sandy  Mush.  The  pastor  thinks 
it  will  take  first-rate,  though  it  is  still  too  soon  to  tell. 

Surrender  Adams  got  a letter  last  Friday  from  his  son 
Gladstone,  who  filed  on  a homestead  near  Porcupine,  Dak., 
two  years  ago.  He  says  they  have  had  another  of  those 
unprecedented  winters  there  for  which  Dakota  is  so  justly 
celebrated.  He  thinks  this  one  has  been  even  more  so  than 
any  of  the  others.  He  wishes  he  was  back  here  at  Blue 
Ruin,  where  a man  can  go  out  doors  for  half  an  hour  with- 
out getting  ostracized  by  the  elements.  He  says  they  brag 
a good  deal  on  their  ozone  there,  but  he  allows  that  it  can 
be  overdone.  He  states  that  when  the  ozone  in  Dakota  is 
feeling  pretty  well  and  humping  itself  and  curling  up  sheet- 
iron  roofs  and  blowing  trains  off  the  track,  a man  has  to  tie 
a clothes-line  to  himself,  with  the  other  end  fastened  to  the 
door  knob,  before  it  is  safe  to  visit  his  own  hen-house.  He 
says  that  his  nearest  neighbor  is  seventeen  miles  away,  and 
a man  might  as  well  buy  his  own  chickens  as  to  fool  his 
money  away  on  seventeen  miles  of  clothes-line. 

It  is  a first-rate  letter,  and  the  old  man  wonders  who 
Gladstone  got  to  write  it  for  him. 

The  valuable  ecru  dog  of  our  distinguished  townsman, 
Mr.  Piedmont  Babbit,  was  seriously  impaired  last  Saturday 
morning  by  an  east-bound  freight. 

He  will  not  wrinkle  up  his  nose  at  another  freight  train. 

George  Wellington,  of  Hickory,  was  in  town  the  front  end 
of  the  week.  He  has  accepted  a position  in  the  livery,  feed 
and  sale  stable  at  Sandy  Mush.  Call  again,  George. 

Gabriel  Brant  met  with  a sad  mishap  a few  days  since 
while  crossing  the  French  Broad  river,  by  which  he  lost  his 
leg. 

Any  one  who  may  find  an  extra  leg  below  where  the 
accident  occurred  will  confer  a favor  on  Mr.  Brant  by 
returning  same  to  No.  06^  Pneumonia  street.  It  may  be 


SOCIETY  GO  AGS  FROM  SANDY  MUSH. 


16c 


readily  identified  by  any  one,  as  it  is  made  of  an  old  pick- 
handle  and  weighs  four  pounds. 

J.  Quincy  Burns  has  written  a war  article  for  the  Cen- 
tury magazine,  regarding  a battle  where  he  was  at.  In 
this  article  he  aims  to  describe  the  sensations  of  a man  who 
is  ignorant  of  physical  fear  and  yet  yearns  to  have  the 
matter  submitted  to  arbitration.  He  gives  a thorough 
expose  of  his  efforts  in  trying  to  find  a suitable  board  of 
arbitration  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  the  enemy  felt  hostile 
and  eager  for  the  fray. 

The  forthcoming  number  of  the  Century  will  be  eagerly 
snapped  up  by  Mr.  Burns*  friends  who  are  familiar  with 
his  pleasing  and  graphic  style  of  writing.  He  describes 
with  wonderful  power  the  sense  of  utter  exhaustion  which 
came  over  him  and  the  feeling  of  bitter  disappointment 
when  he  realized  that  he  was  too  far  away  to  participate  in 
the  battle  and  too  fatigued  to  make  a further  search  for 
suitable  arbitrators. 


Willie  Cigarettes  to  AS^I6S  Thrif 

I. 

“ He  smokes — and  that’s  enough, ’*  sayr 
“ And  cigarettes,  at  that ! ” says  Pa. 

“ He  must  not  call  again  ” says  she — 

“ He  shall  not  call  again ! **  says  he. 

They  both  glare  at  me  as  before — 

Then  quit  the  room  and  bang  the  door, — 

While  I,  their  willful  daughter.  savf 
“ I guess  I’ll  love  him,  anywav!  ~ 

II. 

At  twilight,  in  his  room,  alone, 

His  careless  feet  inertly  thrown 

Across  a chair,  my  fancy  can 

But  worship  this  most  worthless  man! 

I dream  what  joy  it  is  to  set 
His  slow  lips  round  a cigarette, 

With  idle-humored  whiff  and  puff— 

Ah!  this  is  innocent  enough! 

To  mark  the  slender  fingers  raise 
The  waxen  match’s  dainty  blaze, 

Whose  chastened  light  an  instant  glows 
On  drooping  lids  and  arching  nose, 

Then,  in  the  sudden  gloom,  instead, 

A tiny  ember,  dim  and  red, 


372 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE . 


Blooms  languidly  to  ripeness,  then 
Fades  slowly,  and  grows  ripe  again. 

III. 

I lean  back,  in  my  own  boudoir— r 
The  door  is  fast,  the  sash  ajar; 

And  in  the  dark,  I smiling  stare 
At  one  wide  window  over  there, 

Where  some  one,  smoking,  pinks  the  gloom, 
The  darling  darkness  of  his  room ! 

I push  my  shutters  wider  yet, 

And  lo ! I light  a cigarette  ; 

And  gleam  for  gleam,  and  glow  for  glow. 
Each  pulse  of  light  a word  we  know, 

We  talk  of  love  that  still  will  burn 
While  cigarettes  to  ashes  turn. 


Says 


“ Whatever  the  weather  maybe,* 
says  he  — 

“ Whatever  the  weather  may  be  — 
Its  plaze,  if  ye  will,  an*  I’ll  say  me 
say  — 

Supposin’  to-day  was  the  winterest 
day, 

Wud  the  weather  be  changing  be- 
cause ye  cried, 

Or  the  snow  be  grass  were  ye  cruci- 
fied? 

The  best  is  to  make  your  own  sum- 
mer,” says  he, 

“ Whatever  the  weather  may  be,” 
says  he  — 

“ Whatever  the  weather  may  be! 

“Whatever  the  weather  may  be,’* 
says  he  — 

“ Whatever  the  weather  may  be, 
Its  the  songs  ye  sing,  an’  the  smiles  ye  wear 
That’s  a-makin’  the  sunshine  everywhere  ; 

An*  the  world  of  gloom  is  a world  of  glee, 

Wid  the  bird  in  the  bush,  an'  the  bud  in  the  tree, 
Whatever  the  weather  may  be,”  says  he  — 

‘ Whatever  the  weather  may  be ! 


“ Whatever  the  weather  may  be,”  says  he  — 

“ Whatever  the  weather  may  be, 

Ye  can  bring  the  spring,  wid  its  green  an  gold, 

An’  the  grass  in  the  grove  where  the  snow  lies  cold 
An’  ye’ll  warm  your  back,  wid  a smiling  face, 

As  ye  sit  at  your  heart  like  an  owld  fireplace, 
Whatever  the  weather  may  be,”  says  he’ 

“ Whatever  the  weather  may  be  - ” 


Wtjers  E^oads  are  Engaged 
it]  Poring. 

I am  writing  this  at  an  imitation  hotel  where  the  roads 
fork.  I will  call  it  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  because  the  hotel 
at  a railroad  junction  is  generally  called  the  Fifth  Avenue, 
or  the  Gem  City  House,  or  the  Palace  Hotel.  I stopped  at 
an  inn  some  years  since  called  the  Palace,  and  I can  truly 
say  that  if  it  had  ever  been  a palace  it  was  very  much  run 
down  when  I visited  it. 

Just  as  the  fond  parent  of  a white-eyed,  two-legged  freak 
of  nature  loves  to  name  his  mentally-diluted  son  Napoleon, 
and  for  the  same  reason  that  a prominent  horse  owner  in 
Illinois  last  year  socked  my  name  on  a tall,  buckskin-co?ored 
colt  that  did  not  resemble  me,  intellectually  or  physically,  a 
colt  that  did  not  know  enough  to  go  around  a barbed-wire 
fence,  but  sought  to  sift  himself  through  it  into  an  untimely 
grave,  so  this  man  has  named  his  sway-backed  wigwam  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 

It  is  different  from  the  Fifth  avenue  in  many  ways.  In 
the  first  place  there  is  not  so  much  travel  and  business  in 
its  neighborhood.  As  I said  before,  this  is  where  two  rail- 
roads fork.  In  fact  that  is  the  leading  industry  here. 
The  growth  of  the  town  is  naturally  slow,  but  it  is  a healthy 
growth.  There  is  nothing  in  the  nature  of  dangerous  or 
wild-cat  speculation  in  the  advancement  of  this  place,  and 
while  there  has  been  no  noticeable  or  rapid  advance  in  th* 


176 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


principal  business,  there  has  been  no  falling  off  at  all  and 
these  roads  are  forking  as  much  today  as  they  did  before 
the  war,  while  the  saime  three  men  who  were  present  for  the 
first  glad  moment  are  still  here  to  witness  the  operation. 

Sometimes  a train  is  derailed,  as  the  papers  call  it,  and 
two  or  three  people  have  to  remain  over  as  we  did  all  night. 
It  is  at  such  a time  that  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  is  the  scene 
of  great  excitement.  A large  cod-fish,  with  a broad  and 
sunny  smile  and  his  bosom  full  of  rock  salt,  is  tied  in  the 
creek  to  freshen  and  fit  himself  for  the  responsible  position 
of  floor  manager  of  the  codfish  ball. 

A pale  chambermaid,  wearing  a black  jersey  with  large 
pores  in  it  through  which  she  is  gently  percolating,  now  goes 
joyously  up  the  stairs  to  make  the  little  post-office  lock-box 
rooms  look  ten  times  worse  than  they  ever  did  before. 
She  warbles  a low  refrain  as  she  nimbly  knocks  loose  the 
venerable  dust  of  centuries  and  sets  it  afloat  throughout 
the  rooms.  All  is  bustle  about  the  house. 

Especially  the  chambermaid. 

We  were  put  in  the  guests’  chamber  here.  It  has  two 
atrophied  beds  made  up  of  pains  and  counterpanes. 

This  last  remark  conveys  to  the  reader  the  presence  of 
a light,  joyous  feeling  which  is  wholly  assumed  on  my  part. 

The  door  of  our  room  is  full  of  holes  where  locks  have 
been  wrenched  off  in  order  to  let  the  coroner  in.  Last 
night  I could  imagine  that  I was  in  the  act  of  meeting,  per- 
sonally, the  famous  people  who  have  tried  to  sleep  here 
and  who  moaned  through  the  night  and  who  died  while 
waiting  for  the  dawn. 

I have  no  doubt  in  the  world  but  there  is  quite  a good- 
sized  delegation  from  this  hotel,  of  guests  who  hesitated 
about  committing  suicide,  because  they  feared  to  tread  the 
red-hot  sidewalks  of  perdition,  but  who  became  desperate 
at  last  and  resolved  to  take  their  chances,  and  they  have 
never  had  any  cause  to  regret  it. 


WHERE  ROADS  ARE  ENGAGED  IN  FORKING  1 77 

We  washed  our  hands  on  doorknob  soap,  wiped  them 
on  a slippery  elm  court-plaster,  that  had  made  quite  a rep- 
utation for  itself  under  the  nom-de-plume  of  “ Towel,”  tried 
to  warm  ourselves  at  a pocket  inkstand  stove,  that  gave 
Out  heat  like  a dark  lantern  and  had  a deformed  elbow  at 
the  back  of  it. 

The  chambermaid  is  very  versatile,  and  waits  on  the 
table  while  not  engaged  in  agitating  the  overworked  mat- 


tresses and  puny  pillows  up-stairs.  In  this  way  she 
imparts  the  odor  of  fried  pork  to  the  pillow-cases  and  kero- 
sene to  the  pie. 

She  has  a wild,  nervous  and  apprehensive  look  in  her 
eye  as  though  she  feared  that  some  herculean  guest  might 
seize  her  in  his  great  strong  arms  and  bear  her  away  to  a 
justice  of  the  peace  and  marry  her.  She  certainly  cannot 
fully  realize  how  thoroughly  secure  she  is  from  such  a. 
calamity.  She  is  just  as  safe  as  she  was  forty  years  ago, 


178  NTE  AND  R I LET'S  RAIL  WAT  GUIDE. 


when  she  promised  her  aged  mother  that  she  would  never 
elope  with  any  one. 

Still,  she  is  sociable  at  times  and  converses  freely  with 
me  at  table,  as  she  leans  over  my  shoulder,  pensively 
brushing  the  crumbs  into  my  lap  with  a general  utility 
towel,  which  accompanies  her  in  her  various  rambles 
through  the  house,  and  she  asks  what  we  would  rather 
have  — “ tea  or  eggs  ? ” 

This  afternoon  we  will  pay  our  bill,  in  accordance  with 
a life-long  custom  of  ours,  and  go  away  to  permeate  the 
busy  haunts  of  men.  It  will  be  sad  to  tear  ourselves  away 
from  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  at  this  place ; still,  there  is 
no  great  loss  without  some  small  gain,  and  at  our  next  hotel 
we  may  not  have  to  chop  our  own  wood  and  bring  it  up 
stairs  when  we  want  to  rest.  The  landlord  of  a hotel  who 
goes  away  to  a political  meeting  and  leaves  his  guests  to 
chop  their  own  wood,  and  then  charges  them  full  price  for 
the  rent  of  a boisterous  and  tempest-tossed  bed,  will  never 
endear  himself  to  those  with  whom  he  is  thrown  in  contact. 

We  leave  at  2:30  this  afternoon,  hoping  that  the  two 
railroads  may  continue  to  fork  here  just  the  same  as  though 
we  had  remained. 


A^cFQQters3  FodrOp 


It  was  needless  to  say  ’twas  a glorious  day, 

And  to  boast  of  it  all  in  that  spread-eagle  way 
That  our  forefathers  had  since  the  hour  of  the  birth 
Of  this  most  patriotic  republic  on  earth ! 

But  ’twas  justice,  of  course,  to  admit  that  the  sight 
Of  the  old  Stars-and-stripes  was  a thing  of  delight 
In  the  eyes  of  a fellow,  however  he  tried 
To  look  on  the  day  with  a dignified  pride 
That  meant  not  to  brook  any  turbulent  glee, 

Or  riotous  flourish  of  loud  jubilee! 

So  argued  McFeeters,  all  grim  and  severe, 

Who  the  long  night  before,  with  a feeling  of  fear- 


Had  slumbered  but  fitfully,  hearing  the  swish 
Of  the  sky-rocket  over  his  roof,  with  a wish 
That  the  urchin  who  fired  it  were  fast  to  the  end 
Of  the  stick  to  forever  and  ever  ascend; 

Or  to  hopelesly  ask  why  the  boy  with  the  born 
And  its  horrible  havoc  liad  ever  been  born! 

Or  to  wish,  in  his  wakefulness,  staring  aghast, 

That  this  Fourth  of  July  were  as  dead  as  the  last! 

So,  yesterday  morning,  McFeeters  arose, 

With  a fire  in  his  eyes,  and  a cold  in  his  nose, 

And  a gutteral  voice  in  appropriate  key 
With  a temper  as  gruff  as  a temper  could  be. 

He  growled  at  the  servant  he  met  on  the  stair* 

Because  he  was  whistling  a national  air, 

And  he  growled  at  the  maid  on  the  balcony,  who 
Stood  enrapt  with  the  tune  of  “The  Red  White  and  Blue  * 
That  a band  was  discoursing  like  mad  in  the  street, 

With  drumsticks  that  banged,  and  with  cymbals  that  beat. 

And  he  growled  at  his  wife,  as  she  buttoned  his  vest, 
And  applausively  pinned  a rosette  on  his  breast 
Of  the  national  colors,  and  lured  from  his  purse 
Some  change  for  the  boys — for  firecrackers — or  worsen 
And  she  pointed  with  pride  to  a soldier  in  blue 
In  a frame  on  the  wall,  and  the  colors  there,  too; 

And  he  felt,  as  he  looked  on  the  features,  the  glow 
The  painter  found  there  twenty  long  years  ago, 

And  a passionate  thrill  in  his  breast,  as  he  felt 
Instinctively  round  for  the  sword  in  his  belt. 

What  was  it  that  hung  like  a mist  o’er  the  room? — 

The  tumult  without — and  the  music — the  boom 
Of  the  cannon — the  blare  of  the  bugle  and  fife? — 

No  matter! — McFeeters  was  kissing  his  wife* 


MC.  FE ETERi S FOURTH. 


181 


And  laughing  and  crying  and  waving  his  hat 
Like  a genuine  soldier,  and  crazy,  at  that! 

— But  it’s  needless  to  say  ’twas  a glorious  day, 
And  to  boast  of  it  all  in  that  Spread-eagle  way 
That  our  forefathers  have  since  the  hour  of  birth 
Of  this  moat,  patriotic  republic  on  earth! 


1 t\  a Box, 

I saw  them  last  night  in  a box  at  the 
olay— 

Old  age  and  young  youth  side  by  side — 

You  might  know  by  the  glasses  that 
pointed  that  way 

That  they  were — a groom  and  a bride ; 

And  you  might  have  known*  too,  by  the 
face  of  the  groom. 


A 3 OX. 


2\nd  the  tilt  of  his  heud,  dad  the  pm, 

Little  smile  of  his  xip,  he  was  proud  to  presume 
That  we  men  were  all  envying  him. 

Well,  she  was  superb — an  Elaine  in  the  face, 

A Godiva  in  figure  and  mien, 

With  the  arm  and  the  wrist  of  a Parian  “ Grace," 
And  the  high-lifted  brow  of  a queen ; 

But  I thought,  in  the  splendor  of  wealth  and  of  prkte. 
And  in  all  her  young  beauty  might  prize, 

I should  hardly  be  glad  if  she  sat  by  my  side 
With  that  far-awav  look  in  her  eyes. 


Seeing  to  Set  the  Ptiblie  ^igtjt. 


illustrated  in  which,  among  others,  I find  the  foregoing 
picture  of  my  residence: 

The  description  which  accompanies  the  cut,  among 
Other  things,  goes  on  to  state  as  follows : ‘‘The  structure  is 
elaborate,  massive  and  beautiful.  It  consists  of  three 
stories,  basement  and  attic,  and  covers  a large  area  on  the 
ground.  It  contains  an  elevator,  electric  bells,  steam-heat- 
ing arrangements,  baths,  hot  and  cold,  in  every  room,  elec- 
tric lights,  laundry,  fire-escapes,  &c.  The  grounds  consist 
of  at  least  five  acres,  overlooking  the  river  for  several  miles 
up  and  down,  with  fine  boating  and  a private  fish-pond  of 
two  acres  in  extent,  containing  every  known  variety  of 
?arne  fish.  The  grounds  are  finely  laid  out  in  handsome 


SEEKING  TO  SET  THE  PUBLIC  RIGHT  185 


drives  and  walks,  and  when  finished  the  establishment  will 
be  one  of  the  most  complete  and  beautiful  in  the  North- 
west.” 

No  one  realizes  more  fully  than  I the  great  power  of  the 
press  for  good  or  evil.  Rightly  used  the  newspaper  can 
make  or  unmake  men,  and  wrongly  used  it  can  be  even 
more  sinister.  I might  say,  knowing  this  as  I do,  I want  to 
be  placed  right  before  the  people.  The  above  is  not  a 
correct  illustration  or  description  of  my  house,  for  several 
reasons.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  larger  and  more  robust  in 
appearance,  and  in  the  second  place  it  has  not  the  same 
tout  ensemble  as  my  residence.  My  house  is  less  obtrusive 
and  less  arrogant  in  its  demeanor  than  the  foregoing  and  it 
has  no  elevator  in  it. 

My  house  is  not  the  kind  that  seems  to  crave  an  eleva- 
tor. An  elevator  in  my  house  would  lose  money.  There  is 
no  popular  clamor  for  one,  and  if  I were  to  put  one  in  I 
would  have  to  abolish  the  dining-room.  It  would  also  inter- 
fere with  the  parlor. 

I have  learned  recently  that  the  correspondent  who 
came  here  to  write  up  this  matter  visited  the  town  while 
I was  in  the  South,  and  as  he  could  not  find  me  he  was  at 
the  mercy  of  strangers.  A young  man  who  lives  here  and 
who  is  just  in  the  heyday  of  life,  gleefully  consented  to  show 
the  correspondent  my  new  residence  not  yet  completed. 

• o they  went  over  and  examined  the  new  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  Hospital,  which  will  be  completed  in  June  and 
'Inch  is,  of  course,  a handsome  structure,  but  quite  different 
bom  my  house  in  many  particulars. 

For  instance,  my  residence  is  of  a different  school  of  arch- 
itecture, being  rather  on  the  Scandinavian  order,  while  the 
foregoing  has  a tendency  toward  the  Ironic.  The  hospital 
belongs  to  a very  recent  school,  as  I may  say,  while  my 
residence,  in  its  architectural  methods  and  conception,  goes 
back  to  the  time  of  the  mound  builders,  a time  when  a Gothic 


i86 


NYE  AND  RILEY1  S RAILWAY  GUIDE. 


hole  In  the  ground  was  considered  the  magnum  bonum  and 
the  scrumptuous  thing  in  art.  If  the  reader  will  go  around 
behind  the  above  building  and  notice  it  carefully  on  the  east 
side,  he  will  not  discover  a dried  coonskin  nailed  to  the  rear 
breadths  of  the  wood-shed.  That  alone  ought  to  convince 
an  observing  man  that  the  house  is  not  mine.  The  coon- 
skin regardant  will  always  be  found  emblazoned  on  my 
arms,  together  with  a blue  Goddess  of  Liberty  and  my  name 
green  India  ink. 


/he  front  part  of  the  house  runs  back  to  the  time  of  Polypus 
che  First,  while  the  L,  which  does  not  show  in  the  drawing, 
runs  back  as  far  as  the  cistern. 

In  closing,  let  me  say  that  I am  not  finding  fault  with 
any  one  because  the  above  error  has  crept  into  the  public 
prints,  for  it  is  really  a pardonable  error,  after  all.  Neither 
do  I wish  to  be  considered  as  striving  to  eliminate  my  name 
the  columns  of  the  press,  for  no  one  could  be  more 


tickled  than  I am  over  a friendly  notice  ot  ray  arrival  in 
town  or  a timely  reference  to  my  courteous  bearing  and 
youthful  appearance,  but  I want  to  see  the  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  Hospital  succeed,  and  so  I come  out  in  this  way 
over  my  own  signature  and  admit  that  the  building  does  not 
belong  to  me  and  that,  so  far  as  I am  concerned,  the  man 
who  files  a lien  on  it  wall  simply  fritter  away  his  time. 


A Dase’t  of  Blags, 


I’  got  no  patience  with  blues  at  all! 

And  I ust  to  kindo  talk 
Aginst  ’em,  and  claim,  ‘tel  along  last  fall, 
They  was  none  in  the  fambly  stock; 
But  a nephew  of  mine,  from  Eelinoy, 
That  visited  us  last  year, 

He  kindo’  convinct  me  different 
While  he  was  a-stayin’  here. 


Friim  ever’-which-way  that  blues  is  frum, 
They’d  tackle  him  ever’  ways; 

They’d  come  to  him  in  the  night,  and  come 
On  Sundys,  and  rainy  days; 

They’d  tackle  him  in  corn-plantin’  time, 

And  in  harvest,  an  airly  fall, 

But  a dose’t  of  blues  in  the  wintertime 
He  ’lowed  was  the  worst  of  all! 

Said  all  diseases  that  ever  he  had — 

The  mumps,  er  the  rheumatiz — 

Er  ever-other-day  aigger’s  bad 
Purt’  nigh  as  anything  is! — 

Er  a cyarbuncle,  say,  on  the  back  of  his  neck, 
Er  a fellon  on  his  thumb, — 

But  you  keep  the  blues  away  frum  him, 

And  allo’the  rest  could  come! 

And  he’d  moan,  “They’s  nary  a leaf  below! 

Ner  a spear  o’  grass  in  sight! 

And  the  whole  wood-pile’s  clean  under  snow! 

And  the  days  is  dark  as  night! 

And  you  can’t  go  out — ner  you  can’t  stay  in— 
Lay  down — stand  up — ner  set!” 

And  a case  o’  reguller  tyfoid  blues 
Would  double  him  jest  clean  shet! 

I writ  his  parents  a postal-kyard 

He  could  stay  ’tel  spring-time  come; 

And  Aprile  first,  as  I rickollect, 

Was  the  day  we  shipped  him  home. 

Most  o’  his  relatives,  sence  then, 

Has  either  give  up,  er  quit, 

Er  jest  died  off,  but  I understand 
He's  the  same  old  color  yit ! 


Waited,  A Fox. 

Slippery  Elmhurst,  ) 
Staten  Island,  July  18,  1888.  ) 

To  the  Editor: 

Dear  Sir:  Could  you  inform  a constant  reader  of 

your  valuable  paper  where  he  would  be  most  likely  to 
obtain  a good,  durable,  wild  fox  which  could  be  used  for 
hunting  purposes  on  my  premises  ? I desire  a fox  that  is  a 
good  roadster  and  yet  not  too  bloodthirsty.  If  I could 
secure  one  that  would  not  bite,  it  would  tickle  me  most  to 
death. 

You  know,  perhaps,  that  I am  of  English  origin.  Some 
of  the  best  and  bluest  blood  of  the  oldest  and  most  decrepit 
families  in  England  flows  in  my  veins.  There  is  no  better 
blood  extant.  We  love  the  exhilarating  sports  of  our  an- 
cesters,  and  nothing  thrills  us  through  and  through  like  the 
free  chase  'cross  country  behind  the  fleeing  fox.  Joyously 
we  gallop  over  the  sward  behind  the  yelping  pack,  as  we 
clearly  scent  high,  low,  jack  and  the  game. 

My  ancestors  are  haughty  English  people  from  Piscata- 
quis county,  Maine.  For  centuries,  our  rich,  warm,  red 
blood  has  been  mellowed  by  the  elderberry  wine  and  huck- 
leberry juice  of  Moosehead  lake;  but  now  and  then  it  will 
assert  itself  and  mantle  in  the  broad  and  indestructible 
cheek  of  our  race.  Ever  and  anon  in  our  family  you  will 
notice  the  slender,  triangular  chest,  the  broad  and  haughty 
sweep  of  abdomen,  and  the  high,  intellectual  expanse  of 
pelvic  bone,  which  denotes  the  true  Englishman ; proud, 


high-spirited,  soaked  full  of  calm  disdain,  wearing  checked 
pantaloons,  and  a soft,  flabby  tourist  s hat  that  has  a bov« 
at  both  ends,  so 
that  a man  can 
not  get  too  drunk 
to  put  it  on  his 
head  wrong. 

I know  that 
here  in  democrat- 
ic America,  where 
every  man  has  to 
earn  his  living  or 
marry  rich, people 
will  scorn  my 
high-born  love  ol 
the  fox-chase, and 
speak  in  a slight- 
ing manner  of  my 
wild,  wild  yearn 
for  the  rush  and 
scamper  of  the 
hunt.  By  Jove*  but  it  is  joy  indeed  to  gallop  over 
the  sward  and  the  cover,  and  the  open  land,  the  meet 
and  the  cucumber  vines  of  the  Plebeian  farmer,  to  run  over 
the  wife  of  the  peasant  and  t ramp  her  low,  coarse  children 
into  the  rich  mould,  to  “ sick  ” the  hounds  upon  the  rude 
rustic  as  he  paris  greens  his  potatoes,  to  pry  open  the  jaws 
of  the  pack  and  retarn  to  the  open-eyed  peasant  the  quiver- 
ing seat  of  his  pantaloons,  returning  it  to  him  not  because 
it  is  lacking  in  its  me;it,  but  because  it  is  not  available. 

Ah,  how  the  pulse.’  thrill  as  we  bound  over  the  lea,  out 
across  the  wold,  anon  skimming  the  outskirts  of  the  moor 
and  going  home  with  • ^ stellated  fracture  of  the  dura  mater 
through  which  the  gas.  is  gently  escaping. 

Let  others  rave  ov^/  the  dreamy  waltz  and  the  false  joys 


of  the  skating  rink,  but  give  me  the  maddening  yelp  of  the 
pack  in  full  cry  as  it  chases  the  speckled  two-year-old  of 
She  low  born  rustic  across  the  open  and  into  the  pond. 

Let  others  sing  of  the  zephyrs  that  fan  the  white  sails 
Df  their  swift-flying  yacht,  but  give  me  a wild  gallop  at  the 
tail  of  my  high-priced  hounds  and  six  weeks  at  the  hospital 
with  a fractured  rib  and  I am  proud  and  happy.  All  our 
family  are  that  way.  We  do  not  care  for  industry  for  itself 
alone.  We  are  too  proud  ever  to  become  slaves  to  habits 
of  industry.  We  can  labor  or  we  can  let  it  alone. 

This  shows  our  superiority  as  a race.  We  have  been  that 
way  for  hundreds  of  years.  We  could  work  in  order  to  be 
sociable,  but  we  would  not  allow  it  to  sap  the  foundations 
of  our  whole  being. 

I write,  therefore,  to  learn,  if  possible,  where  I can  get 
a good  red  or  gray  fox  that  will  come  home  nights.  I 
had  a fox  last  season  for  hunting  purposes,  but  he  did  not 
give  satisfaction.  He  was  constantly  getting  into  the 
pound.  I do  not  want  an  animal  of  that  kind.  I want  one 
that  I shall  always  know  where  I can  put  my  hand  upon 
him  when  I want  to  hunt. 

Nothing  can  be  more  annoying  than  to  be  compelled  to 
go  to  the  pound  and  redeem  a fox,  when  a party  is  mounted 
and  waiting  to  hunt  him. 

I do  not  care  so  much  for  the  gait  of  a fox,  whether  he 
lopes,  trots  or  paces,  so  that  his  feet  are  sound  and  his 
wind  good.  I bought  a light-red  fox  two  years  ago  that 
had  given  perfect  satisfaction  the  previous  year,  but  when 
we  got  ready  to  hunt  him  he  went  lame  in  the  off  hind  foot 
and  crawled  under  a hen  house  back  of  my  estate,  where  he 
remained  till  the  hunt  was  over. 

What  I want  is  a young,  flealess  fox  of  the  dark-red  or 
iron-gray  variety,  that  I can  depend  upon  as  a good  road- 
ster ; one  that  will  come  and  eat  out  of  mv  hand  and  yearn 
to  be  loved. 


I would  like  also  a tall,  red  horse  with  a sawed-off  tail ; 
one  that  ca»n  jump  a barbed  wire  fence  without  mussing  it 
up  with  fragments  of  his  rider.  Any  one  who  may  have 
such  a horse  or  pipless  fox  will  do  well  to  communicate 
with  me  in  person  or  by  letter,  enclosing  references.  I may 
be  found  during  the  summer  months  on  my  estate,  spread 
out  under  a tree,  engaged  in  thought. 

E.  Fitzwxlliam  Nvi, 
Slipperyelmhurst,  Staten  Island,  N,  Y. 


You’ll 


IMITATED. 

Say!  you  feller!  You — 
With  that  spade  and 
the  pick  • — 

What  do  you  "pose  to 
do 

On  this  side  o’  the 
crick  ? 

Goin’  to  tackle  this 
. claim?  Weill  reckon 
let  up  agin  purty  quick ! 


No  bluff,  understand, — 

But  the  same  has  been  tried, 

And  the  claim  never  panned — 

Or  the  fellers  has  lied, — 

For  they  tell  of  a dozen  that  tried  it, 
And  quit  it  most  onsatisfied. 


SUTTEJFS  CfJtiM, 


*9 

The  luck's  dead  agin  it 1— * 

The  first  man  I see 
That  stuck  a pick  in  it 
Proved  that  thing  to  me,— 

For  he’sorto  took  down,  and  got  homesick 
And  went  back  whar  he’d  orto’  be  * 

Then  others  they  worked  it 
Some— more  or  less, 

But  finally  shirked  it. 

In  grades  of  distress,— 

With  an  eye  out— a jaw  or  skull  busted, 

Or  some  sort  os  seriousness. 

The  last  one  was  plucky— 

He  wasn’t  afeerd, 

And  bragged  he  was  “lucky,” 

And  said  that  “he’d  heerd 
A heep  of  bluff-talk/’  and  swore  awkavd 
He’d  work  any  claim  that  he  keered  1 

Don’t  you  strike  nary  lick 
With  that  pick  till  I’m  through;— 
This-here  feller  talked  slick 
And  as  peart-like  as  you ! 

And  he  says  : “I’ll  abide  here 
As  long  as  I please ! ” 

But  he  didn’t He  died  here—' 

And  I’m  his  disease? 


be  Identified. 

Chicago,  Feb.  20,  1888. 

INANCIAL  circles  here 
have  been  a good  deal 
interested  in  the  dis- 
covery of  a cipher 
which  was  recently 
adopted  by  a depositor 
and  which  began  to  at- 
tract the  attention  at 
first  of  a gentleman 
employed  in  the  Clear- 
ing-House. He  was 
telling  me  about  it  and 
showing  me  the  vouch- 
ers or  duplicates  of 
them. 

It  was  several  months  ago  that  he  first  noticed  on  the 
back  of  a check  passing  through  the  Clearing-House  the 
following  cipher,  written  in  a symmetrical,  Gothic  hand  : 

Dear  Sir  : Herewith  find  payment  for  last  month’s  butter.  It  was 

hardly  up  to  the  average.  Why  do  you  blonde  your  butter  ? Your  butter  last 
month  tried  to  assume  an  effeminate  air,  which  certainly  was  not  consistent'with 
its  great  vigor.  Is  it  not  possible  that  this  butter  is  the  brother  to  what  we  had 
the  month  previous,  and  that  it  was  exchanged  for  its  sister  by  mistake  ? We 
have  generally  liked  your  butter  very  much,  but  we  will  have  to  deal  elsewhere 
if  you  are  going  to  encourage  it  in  wearing  a full  beard.  Yours  truly,  W. 

Moneyed  men  all  over  Chicago  and  financial  crypto- 
grammers  came  to  read  the  curious  thing  and  to  try  and 


work  out  its  bearing  on  trade.  Everybody  took  a look  at 
it  and  went  away  defeated.  Even  the  men  who  were 
engaged  in  trying  to  figure  out  the  identity  of  the  Snell 
murderer,  took  a day  off  and  tried  their  Waterbury  thinkers 
on  this  problem.  In  the  midst  of  it  all  another  check 
passed  through  the  Clearing-House  with  this  cipher,  in  the 
same  hand : 

Sir  : Your  bill  for  the  past  month  is  too  much.  You  forget  the  eggs 
returned  at  the  end  of  second  week,  for  which  you  were  to  give  me  credit. 
The  cook  broke  one  of  them  by  mistake,  and  then  threw  up  the  portfolio  o! 
pie-founder  in  our  once  joyous  home.  I will  not  dock  you  for  loss  oi 
cook,  but  I cannot  allow  you  for  the  eggs.  How  you  succeed  in  dodging 
quarantine  with  eggs  like  that  is  a mystery  to  yours  truly,  W. 

Great  excitement  followed  the  discovery  of  this  indorse- 
ment on  a check  for  $32.87.  Everybody  who  knew  any- 
thing about  ciphering  was  called  in  to  consider  it.  A 
young  man  from  a high  school  near  here,  who  made  a spe- 
cialty of  mathematics  and  pimples,  and  who  could  readily 
tell  how  long  a shadow  a nine-pound  ground-hog  would 
cast  at  2 o’clock  and  37  minutes  p.m.,  on  ground-hog  day,  if 
runny,  at  the  town  of  Fungus,  Dak.,  provided  latitude  and 
longitude  and  an  irregular  mass  of  red  chalk  be  given  to 
him,  was  secured  to  jerk  a few  logarithms  in  the  interests  of 
trade.  He  came  and  tried  it  for  a few  days,  covered  the 
interior  of  the  Exposition  Building  with  figures  and  then 
went  away. 

The  Pinkerton  detectives  laid  aside  their  literary  work 
on  the  great  train  book,  entitled  “The  Jerkwater  Bank 
Robbery  and  Other  Choice  Crimes,”  by  the  author  of 
“How  I Traced  a Lame  Man  Through  Michigan  and 
Other  Felonies.”  They  grappled  with  the  cipher,  and  sev- 
eral of  them  leaned  up  against  something  and  thought  for  a 
long  time,  but  they  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail  to  it. 
Ignatius  Donnelly  took  a powerful  dose  of  kumiss,  and 
under  its  maddening  influence  sought  to  solve  the  great 


ig6  NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAIL  F A x GUILE, 

problem  which  threatened  to  engulf  the  national  surplus. 
All  was  in  vain.  Cowed  and  defeated,  the  able  conserva- 
tors  of  coin,  who  require  a man  to  be  identified  before  he  can 
draw  on  his  overshoes  at  sight,  had  to  acknowledge  if  this 
thing  continued  it  threatened  the  destruction  of  the  entire 
national  fabric. 

About  this  time  I was  calling  at  the  First  National  Bank 
of  Chicago,  the  greatest  bank,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  in 
America.  I saw  the  bonds  securing  its  issue  of  national 
currency  the  other  day  in  Washington,  and  I am  quite  sure 
the  custodian  told  me  it  was  the  greatest  of  any  bank  in  the 
Union.  Anyway,  it  was  sufficient,  so  that  I felt  like  doing 
my  banking  business  there  whenever  it  became  handy  to 
do  so. 

I asked  for  a certificate  of  deposit  for  $2,000,  and  had 
the  money  to  pay  * for  it,  but  I had  to  be  identified. 
“ Why,”  I said  to  the  receiving  teller,  “ surely  you  don’t 
require  a man  to  be  identified  when  he  deposits  money,  do 
you  ? ” 

“Yes,  that’s  the  idea.” 

“ Well,  isn’t  that  a new  twist  on  the  crippled  industries 
of  this  country  ? ” 

“No;  that’s  our  rule.  Hurry  up,  please,  and  don’t  keep 
men  waiting  who  have  money  and  know  how  to  do  busi- 
ness.” 

“ Well,  I don’t  want  to  obstruct  business,  of  course,  but 
suppose,  for  instance,  I get  myself  identified  by  a man  I 
know  and  a man  you  know,  and  a man  who  can  leave  his 
business  and  come  here  for  the  delirious  joy  of  identifying 
me,  and  you  admit  that  I am  the  man  I claim  to  be,  corre- 
sponding as  to  description,  age,  sex,  etc.,  with  the  man  I 
advertise  myself  to  be,  how  would  it  be  about  your  ability 
to  identify  yourself  as  the  man  you  claim  to  be?  I go  all 
over  Chicago,  visiting  all  the  large  pork-packing  houses  in 


SEEKING  TO  BE  IDENTIFIED . 


199 


search  of  a man  I know,  and  who  is  intimate  with  literary 
people  like  me,  and  finally  we  will  say  I find  one  who 
knows  me  and  who  knows  you,  and  whom  you  know,  and 
who  can  leave  his  leaf  lard  long  enough  to  come  here  and 
identify  me  all  right.  Can  you  identify  yourself  in  such  a 
way  that  when  I put  in  my  $2,000  you  will  not  loan  it  upon 
insufficient  security  as  they  did  in  Cincinnati  the  other 
day,  as  soon  as  I go  out  of  town  ? ” 

“ Oh,  we  don’t  care  especially  whether  you  trade  here  or 
not,  so  that  you  hurry  up  and  let  other  people  have  a chance. 
Where  you  make  a mistake  is  in  trying  to  rehearse  a piece 
here  instead  of  going  out  to  Lincoln  Park  or  somewhere  in 
a quiet  part  of  the  city.  Our  rules  are  that  a man  who 
makes  a deposit  here  must  be  identified. 

“ All  right.  Do  you  know  Queen  Victoria?” 

“No,  sir;  I do  not.” 

“ Well,  then,  there  is  no  use  in  disturbing  her.  Do  you 
know  any  of  the  other  crowned  heads?” 

“ No,  Sir.” 

“ Well,  then,  do  you  know  President  Cleveland,  or  any 
of  the  Cabinet,  or  the  Senate  or  members  of  the  House?” 
“No.” 

“ That’s  it,  you  see.  I move  in  one  set  and  you  in 
another.  What  respectable  people  do  you  know?” 

“ I’ll  have  to  ask  you  to  stand  aside,  I guess,  and  give 
that  string  of  people  a chance.  You  have  no  right  to  take 
up  my  time  in  this  way.  The  rules  of  the  bank  are  inflex- 
ible. We  must  know  who  you  are,  even  before  we  accept 
your  deposit.” 

I then  drew  from  my  pocket  a copy  of  the  Sunday 
World,  which  contained  a voluptuous  picture  of  myself. 
Removing  my  hat  and  making  a court  salaam  by  letting  out 
four  additional  joints  in  my  lithe  and  versatile  limbs,  I asked 
if  any  further  identification  would  be  necessary. 

Hastily  closing  the  door  to  the  vault  and  jerking  the 


combination,  he  said  that  would  be  satisfactory.  I was 
then  permitted  to  deposit  in  the  bank. 

I do  not  know  why  I should  always  be  regarded  with 
suepHion  wherever  I go.  I do  not  present  the  appearance 


of  a man  who  is  steeped  in  crime,  and  yet  when  I put  my 
trivial  little  two-gallon  valise  on  the  seat  of  a depot  waiting- 
room  a big  man  with  a red  mustache  comes  to  me  and  hisses 
through  his  clinched  teeth:  “Take  yer  baggage  off  the 
seat!!”  It  is  so  everywhere.  I apologize  for  disturbing  a 
ticket  agent  long  enough  to  sell  me  a ticket,  and  he  tries  to 
jump  through  a little  brass  wicket  and  throttle  me.  Other 


men  come  in  and  say : “ Give  me  a ticket  for  Bandoline,  O., 
and  be  dam  sudden  about  it,  too,”  and  they  get  their  ticket 
and  go  aboard  the  car  and  get  the  best  seat,  while  I am  beg- 
ging for  the  opportunity  to  buy  a seat  at  full  rates  and  then 
vide  in  the  wood  box.  I believe  that  common  courtesy  and 


decency  in  America  need  protection.  Go  into  an  hotel  or 
a hotel,  whichever  suits  the  eyether  and  nyether  readers  of 
these  lines,  and  the  commercial  man  who  travels  for  a big 
sausage-casing  house  in  New  York  has  the  bridal  chamber^ 
while  the  meek  and  lowly  minister  of  the  Gospel  gets  a wali- 
pocket  room  with  a cot,  a slippery-elm  towel,  a cake  of  cast- 
iron  soap,  a disconnected  bell,  a view  of  the  laundry,  a tin 
roof  and  $4  a day. 

But  I digress.  I was  speaking  of  the  bank  check  cipher 


202 


NYE  AND  RILEY'S  RAILWAY  Gl/I±>a, 


At  the  First  National  Bank  I was  shown  another  of  these 
remarkable  indorsements.  It  read  as  follows  : 

Dear  Sir.  This  will  be  your  pay  for  chickens  and  other  fowls  received 
up  to  the  first  of  the  present  month.  Time  is  working  wondrous  changes  in 
your  chickens.  They  are  not  such  chickens  as  we  used  to  get  of  you  before 
the  war.  They  may  be  the  same  chickens,  but  oh ! how  changed  by  the  lapse 
of  time ! How  much  more  indestructible ! How  they  have  learned  since  then 
to  defy  the  encroaching  tooth  of  remorseless  ages,  or  any  other  man ! Why  do 
you  not  have  them  tender  like  your  squashes  ? I found  a blue  poker  chip  in 
your  butter  this  week.  What  shall  I credit  myself  for  it  ? If  you  would  try  to 
work  your  butter  more  and  your  customers  less  it  would  be  highly  appreciated, 
especially  by,  yours  truly  W. 

Looking  at  the  signature  on  the  check  itself,  I.  found  it 
to  be  that  of  Mrs.  James  Wexford,  of  this  city.  Knowing 
Mr.  Wexford,  a wealthy  and  influential  publisher  here,  I 
asked  him  to-day  if  he  knew  anything  about  this  matter. 
He  said  that  all  he  knew  about  it  was  that  his  wife  had  a 
separate  bank  account,  and  had  asked  him  several  months 
ago  what  was  the  use  of  all  the  blank  space  on  the  back  of 
a check,  and  why  it  couldn’t  be  used  for  correspondence 
with  the  remittee.  Mr.  Wexford  said  he’d  bet  $500  that 
his  wife  had  been  using  her  checks  that  way,  for  he  said  he 
never  knew  of  a woman  who  could  possibly  pay  postage  on 
a note,  remittance  or  anything  else  unless  every  particle  of 
the  surface  had  been  written  over  in  a wild,  delirious,  three- 
story  hand.  Later  on  I found  that  he  was  right  about  it. 
His  wife  had  been  sassing  the  grocer  and  the  butter-man 
on  the  back  of  her  checks.  Thus  ended  the  great  bank 
mystery. 

I will  close  this  letter  with  a little  incident,  the  story  of 
which  may  not  be  so  startling,  but  it  is  true.  It  is  a story 
of  child  faith.  Johnny  Quinlan,  of  Evanston,  has  the  most 
wonderful  confidence  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer,  but  he  thinks 
that  prayer  does  not  succeed  unless  it  is  accompanied  with 
considerable  physical  strength.  He  believes  that  adult 
prayer  is  a good  thing,  but  doubts  the  efficacy  of  juvenile 
prayer- 


SEEKING  TO  BE  IDENTIFIED, 


903 


has  wanted  a Jersey  cow  for  a good  while  and  tried 
, but  it  didn’t  seem  to  get  to  the  central  office.  Last 

week  he  went  to  a 
neighbor  who  is  a 
Christian  and  be- 
liever in  the  effi- 
cacy of  prayer, 
also  the  owner  of 
a Jersey  cow. 

“ Do  you  be^ 
lieve  that  prayer 
will  bring  me  a 
y al 1 e r Je  r sey 
cow?”  said  Johnny. 

“ Why,  yes,  of  course. 
Prayer  will  remove  moun- 
tains. It  will  do  anything." 

“Well,  then,  suppose  you 
give  me  the  cow  you’ve  got 
and  pray  for  another  one.” 


s - ^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILUNOIS-URBANA 


3 0112  004991847 


